


All My Yesterdays

by fourth_rose



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 127,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourth_rose/pseuds/fourth_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booth has been taught since early childhood that a wise man builds his house on rock, not sand, but it isn't until the ground starts shifting under him that he realizes he never learned how to tell them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been nibbling at the back of my brain since the beginning of season 7, but it probably wouldn't have seen the light of day if it hadn't been for the lovely sunsetdreamer, who agreed with me that it was a pretty crazy idea, but still encouraged me to go through with it. I'll do my best not to make her regret it ;-)
> 
> Story title inspired by a line from Kris Kristofferson's song Me and Bobby McGee – and yes, I'm aware that's not quite how the line in question goes..

Booth hacks away at the ossified layers of faded paint and yellowing wallpaper and does his best not to inhale the musty-smelling cloud of dust and flakes that rises up every time he brings the scraper down. His arms are aching, he's covered in dirt and plaster dust, but he's humming under his breath, and if he's honest with himself, he has to admit that he hasn't been this happy since the day they moved into the house. It's a moment of pure self-indulgence, because there's still plenty of work to do in the master bathroom and the bedroom, and he hasn't even gotten started on the nursery yet – but there's no way he could have resisted when Bones placed a cool hand on his shoulder and told him firmly, "Go play in your man cave, Booth, I've had enough of you getting underfoot while I'm trying to work" before bodily shoving him out of the kitchen.

 

He takes a step back and casts a critical look around. There's still a long way to go until the room will look even remotely like he's picturing it, but the mere image in his mind is enough to leave him giddy with excitement. He draws a deep breath, inhaling the faint aroma of almonds and cinnamon that mixes with the stench of mold and age-old dust, and he can't help the smile that spreads over his face. Temperance Brennan, world-famous anthropologist and best-selling author, is busy in their kitchen, in _their_ house, indulging in the baking spree she's been on for most of the past week because she's pregnant with _his_ child and has gone into what Angela calls the "nesting phase" of her pregnancy. Life doesn't get much better than this, and the thought makes him tackle the wall in front of him with renewed energy.

 

After a while, he hears the stairs creak under the heavy, careful footfalls that have replaced her once energetic gait, and he turns around when the door opens, letting in a fresh wave of spicy fragrance. Bones sticks her head into the room as if to check on his progress, but the tender little smile on her face tells him that's not the reason for her visit.

 

"Hey." He meant to sound soft and playful, but some of the dust must have gotten into his throat after all, so the greeting comes out a little hoarse.

 

"Hey to you too." She doesn't come in – she has made it clear that she understands the anthropological significance of a space that he can claim as his own, even though Booth suspects she isn't too fond of the gloomy basement room anyway. "In case you're hungry, the pie will be done in a couple of minutes."

 

"Aw, Bones, you made _pie_?" Booth walks over to her and wishes he wasn't covered in dirt because he would very much like to kiss her. "That's great!"

 

"That remains to be seen," she answers with a frown. "I found this recipe for a cherry and marzipan pie on a website Angela recommended, but it was more difficult to make than I initially assumed, and I can't be sure yet whether the result will be of adequate quality."

 

"Come on, it smells great, there's no way it…" Booth pauses and clears his throat; it's only now that he notices how raspy his voice has become. He reaches for his water bottle and takes a sip; the water is cool and soothing, but his throat still feels uncomfortably dry.

 

Bones eyes him carefully. "Are you okay?"

 

He shakes his head and takes another gulp of water. "I'm fine – it's just the dust, I guess."

 

"You should wear a protective mask during this kind of work." She takes a step towards him, obviously forgetting her anthropological man cave rules, and brushes a few paint flakes off his shoulder. "There could be toxic metals in the old paint, certain kinds of mold are highly toxic as well, and the smaller particles –"

 

"Bones, I said I'm _fine_." As sweet as it is that she's worried about him, he'd rather not have her try out her maternal instincts on him while there's no baby to take care of yet. However, his throat has now started to itch like crazy, and Booth lifts the bottle again to wash the last of that damned dust away. The moment the water hits the back of his throat, he starts coughing.

 

"Booth?" Her tone is alarmed, but Booth can't focus on it; he can't get the sudden coughing fit under control, and the harder he tries to draw a deep breath, the tighter his windpipe seems to become. His throat is on fire, the burning pain quickly spreading downwards, and then grey dots appear in his peripheral vision, closing in further until he can see nothing but a swirling mass of light and dark patches in front of his eyes. Panic settles in as he realizes that he's not getting any air at all – something alien and painful is lodged in his throat, and he's choking on it, no matter how hard he struggles for breath.

 

He hears a voice shouting, but the words don't make sense; something heavy is pressing on his chest and shoulders – why is he suddenly on his back? – until it's impossible to move, and then a sharp pain slices through his throat, leaving him retching and gasping for air. The pain is so intense that his vision darkens further for a moment, but at least he can breathe again – his windpipe feels raw and brittle with every breath, but the panic subsides a little, even though his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he can't hear anything else over it.

 

There's a hand on his face, warm and gentle, and Booth desperately tries to pull himself together. Whatever just happened, it must have given Bones one hell of a fright, and he needs to let her know that he's okay. He's still deaf from the thundering sound of his own heartbeat, but his vision is slowly beginning to clear, and at last he manages to open his eyes – wait, when did he close them in the first place? – and to turn his head towards her.

 

The light makes his eyes hurt, and Booth has to blink a few times, but at last the outline of the woman bending over him swims into focus. He blinks again, squinting against the sudden brightness, but the image he sees remains unchanged. Blond hair, porcelain skin, pale blue eyes that are wide with an expression of… fear? shock? disbelief? as she stares at him and then hastily steps away. She's wearing something shapeless in a sickly green color that he has never seen on her before, but there' still no mistaking her.

 

Booth opens his mouth and tries to speak, but the only sound his abused throat can manage is a low, hoarse groan.

 

" _Hannah_?"

 

"Booth!" Someone is shaking him, none too gently, but at least he can hear clearly again, and the light isn't hurting his eyes any more. "What did you just say?"

 

"I – what?" His throat is still a little sore, but he notices with immense relief that he can breathe normally, and that it's no longer painful to speak. Like a fog lifting from his brain, the nauseating feeling of disorientation fades, and he finally realizes that he's in his bed with a visibly upset Bones hovering over him, her eyes glittering almost dangerously in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

 

"Bones, I – how did I get here? I thought I was… I mean, we were in the basement…"

 

Her expression becomes puzzled. "Yes, we were – and then you had way too much pie, and we went to bed. You woke me up a few moments ago when you started coughing again."

 

"Sorry." Booth sheepishly indicates the water bottle on her nightstand (there _is_ no nightstand on his side of the bed yet because he hasn't gotten around to assembling it). "Could you hand me that?"

 

"Get it yourself, my current girth makes it impossible for me to reach that far without a considerable and very uncomfortable shift in my position." Her tone is icy, and Booth winces as he gets up and walks around the bed rather than just reaching across her belly, because he might risk an elbow in his kidney if he tried that right now.

 

He's still feeling a bit out of sorts, but he does his best not to let her notice it as he gulps down a few mouthfuls of water. "I guess you were right about the pie," he tries to joke as he crawls back under the covers, "I must have dreamed… it was pretty strange."

 

"I'll say." He clearly hasn't managed to brighten her foul mood, although there's a hint of hurt in her stern expression. "It must have been a very interesting dream, too, considering that it made you moan your ex-girlfriend's name."

 

_Oh fuck_. Booth does some very quick thinking, which isn't easy given that he's still a little groggy. "Bones, I wasn't _moaning_ anything, it was just –"

 

"– a dream, I know." She definitely sounds hurt now. "I'm fully aware that you have no control over the activity of your brain during REM sleep, and that the male libido..."

 

"Whoa, hold it right there!" he cuts her off. "It wasn't _that_ kind of dream, okay? It was pretty unpleasant – like I couldn't breathe or something, and…" He realizes too late that he probably shouldn't have let that slip, but at least the look she gives him now is concerned instead of accusing.

 

"I told you it would have been safer to wear a mask while stripping the walls. The dust you inhaled –"

 

"Fine, fine, you win." Booth knows when it's better to give in. "I'll wear the damned mask next time. Can we go back to sleep now?"

 

"I'd like to know about the rest of your dream." She doesn't sound mad any more, merely curious, but there's a tense undertone to her question. Booth is a little wary of opening this particular can of worms, but he actually likes the idea that Bones might feel possessive enough about him to be jealous of a shadow from the past.

 

He isn't going to tell her that, of course, so he merely shrugs. "There isn't much I remember – I opened my eyes, and she was standing there looking at me. She didn't look too happy to see me either, and before you ask, yes, she was fully dressed."

 

Bones' eyes narrow. "I wasn't going to ask that."

 

"Of course you weren't." Booth shoots her a knowing grin. "It was something baggy in an awful color, too – like hospital scrubs or something like that."

 

She raises her eyebrows. "This had better not been a Naughty Nurse kind of scenario, Booth."

 

"Oh, come on." He scoots closer to her and lowers his voice to a seductive purr. "The only person I would want to play Naughty Nurse with is you, and you know it."

 

"That's not an option at the moment." He's very familiar with that matter-of-fact tone – something is still bothering her, and she's trying to hide it behind a façade of clinical detachment. "Even though my current condition may be very satisfying for you on an emotional level, I'm aware that the massive changes to my body have considerably lessened my sexual appeal, and it would only be natural for you to…"

 

"Okay, _enough_." This is one of the occasions when patience will get him nowhere with her. "What happened to that Dr. I'm-gorgeous-and-don't-I-know-it I used to work with?"

 

Her smile turns out a little crooked. "She got pregnant."

 

"Which only made her _more_ gorgeous." Booth bends down and presses a kiss on her belly. "Stop giving Mommy body image issues, little one."

 

Bones lightly swats him on the shoulder. "Have you been talking to Sweets again?"

 

Booth flops back onto his pillow and sighs. "You know how he is – he's pretty much impossible to avoid now that you can't go into the field any more, and I can't threaten to shoot him all the time just to make him shut up."

 

"I concede your point." She turns to switch off the bedside lamp and then says into the sudden darkness, "Just as long as you don't listen to him about anything important…"

 

He resolutely clamps down on the onset of very unpleasant memories. That part of his life is in the past, crazy dreams notwithstanding, and he refuses to dwell on it now that the fates are finally smiling on him. "Nah, I've learned my lesson in that regard."

 

"Don't you forget it," she murmurs, and Booth chuckles under his breath as he closes his eyes and gets comfortable.

 

"I won't."

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Booth opens his eyes and is almost blinded by a bright beam of light stabbing straight into his pupils. Flinching, he squeezes his eyes shut again and tries to turn his head away from the light source, but he finds that his muscles refuse to obey him. Every last remnant of half-awake grogginess is gone in an instant as panic sets in; he tries harder, which only results in his neck muscles screaming in protest, and an attempt to draw a deep, calming breath is hindered by the fact that something is blocking his right nostril and pressing against his cheek. He wants to raise his hand to remove whatever is stuck to his face, but finds that he can't because his wrists are tied to something, and his shocked gasp turns into a pained hiss when he realizes that his throat feels painfully dry and rough like sandpaper.

 

That's when he dimly becomes aware that someone is speaking to him; he can't understand what they're saying, but the voice is gentle and vaguely familiar. The light is no longer bright enough to hurt his eyes through his closed eyelids, so he finally opens them again because they seem to be the only part of his body that is willing to cooperate. His vision is blurred and fuzzy, but the face of the woman watching him is close enough to his own to recognize her nevertheless, and it manages to calm him instantly – because there is no way in hell Catherine Bryar could really be standing by his bedside.

 

_You're having a nightmare, and you need to wake up NOW_. The familiar old mantra comes back to him without effort; he hasn't had much need of it lately, but he's had too many years of practice to forget how to deal with his past haunting him in his sleep. Granted, a parade of his exes isn't his usual fare, and he hopes to God that he kept his mouth shut this time, but still, this is something he can handle. _Close your eyes and forget what you're seeing; focus on yourself, on what you know is real, and when you open your eyes again the dream will be over._

 

Booth inhales deeply and then opens his eyes to a bedroom dimly lit by the first light of early morning. Bones is snoring softly next to him, and the chilling pressure of her toes against his calf tells him that her cold feet have found their way under his blanket again. He smiles and focuses on slowing his pulse down to normal as the last remnants of the nightmare fade; then he stretches, slowly and languidly, and for once the familiar twinge in his lower back is a welcome reminder that his body is in the same not-quite-perfect working order it usually is.

 

Then he takes a glance at the alarm clock on Bones' nightstand and jumps out of bed with a curse. She forgot to set the alarm again, and while she's more or less free to come and go at the lab as she pleases (never mind that she should by all rights be on maternity leave already anyway), he has a meeting he can't be late for in less than an hour.

 

+++

 

Hacker is pretty pissed off at Booth for storming in at the last minute, and Booth's day goes from bad to worse after that. He's swamped in paperwork he can't get done because every ten minutes somebody walks into his office demanding his immediate attention; Bones stands him up for lunch because Angela wants to take her shopping for baby clothes ("She says it's a sacred tradition between best friends, Booth, and even though I'm sure that's not actually true I don't want to disappoint her" – because disappointing _him_ is obviously fine and dandy), and on top of it all Sweets keeps bugging him about Booth's steadfast refusal to take Daisy into the field ever again, which has obviously resulted in Sweets not getting any every time another squintern is called to a crime scene. In the end, it takes Booth's threat to shove Sweets' shiny new gun up a place where the sun doesn't shine to get rid of the kid, and Booth slumps back in his office chair with a groan and enjoys the first moment of blissful silence since this hell of a workday started.

 

Not that he finally has a moment to himself, he's beginning to feel the aftereffects of his less-than-restful night; his eyelids are heavy and itchy, and Booth closes them for a second and sighs in blessed relief. He knows he can't doze off at work, but he can still rest his eyes for a few seconds before delving back into the mountains of unfinished paperwork on his desk.

 

His relief, however, is short-lived, because somebody suddenly grabs his arm. Startled, Booth turns his head and sees Agent Genny Shaw – who must have tiptoed in from her desk in the bullpen because he never heard a thing – standing next to him and holding his wrist and upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Booth wants to ask her what on earth she thinks she's doing, but he finds that he can't get a single word out. He tries to shake her off, but that doesn't work either; his arm feels like lead, and she slowly lifts it above his head and then lowers it again. His struggles to get out of her grasp merely earn him a raised eyebrow and the cheerful admonition, "Hey, didn't we agree that you wouldn't fight me any more?"

 

"What the hell, Shaw?" Just like that, he finds his voice again, and his chair snaps upright as the grip on his arm loosens. Blinking, Booth looks around, but he doesn't have time to figure out what's going on because somebody speaks up from the direction of his office door.

 

"Sir, did you just call me?"

 

Booth can only stare in total befuddlement; Agent Shaw is at the door and sticks her head into his office with that half-eager, half-apologetic expression she can't seem to get rid of around him. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, but I thought I'd heard –"

 

"Never mind." Booth quickly decides he has neither the time nor the inclination to ponder what just happened. "It's okay, Shaw, get back to work."

 

Maybe it's just his imagination, but it seems to him that she's giving him a curious look before he leaves, and for the first time he's glad of Shaw's persistent hero-worshipping because at least it means she'll keep her mouth shut about this.

 

Now thoroughly ill at ease, Booth decides that he needs a break. As dreadful as the coffee in the break room is, it will at least provide him with a much-needed dose of caffeine. He crosses the bullpen with a few long strides, his grim expression making the rookies hide behind computer screens and file folders, and breathes a sigh of relief when he steps out into the blessedly empty hallway.

 

He's about to enter the break room when he hears Shaw calling his name. With a muttered curse, Booth turns around to tell her to get lost until he's had his coffee, but she's nowhere in sight; the hallway is as empty and silent as before.

 

Shaking his head, Booth figures he underestimated just how badly he needs that coffee.

 

+++

 

For the rest of the day, Booth can't shake off the nagging feeling that something is off. Several times, he's close to calling Bones just to hear the reassuring sound of her voice, but she still doesn't appreciate pointless interruptions when she's working, and he also doesn't want her to worry in case he sounds as out of sorts as he feels. He isn't getting anywhere with the paperwork either, and by five o'clock he decides that he's had enough. It's not like the files on his desk are going anywhere, so he might just as well call it a day and get back to them with a clearer mind tomorrow.

 

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, and the familiarity of the routine task manages to calm him a little. By the time he unlocks the front door of their house, Booth is feeling almost normal again.

 

He lets the door fall shut behind him while trying to balance his keys and two bags full of groceries; his "Bones, I'm home!" echoes in the hallway, but remains otherwise unanswered. He isn't really surprised; it would be very much unlike her not to make up for lost time at work after she let Angela drag her away for a few hours.

 

He carries the bags into the kitchen and begins restocking their shiny new fridge with stuff from the three food groups in their household, which means stuff he'll eat, stuff she'll eat, and stuff they'll both eat (the last one being the smallest group by far). He's almost done when an amused female voice speaks up next to his ear in a sing-song tone, "Let's see what's for dinner tonight, shall we?"

 

Booth nearly drops a carton of eggs when he whips around. A part of him hopes that Bones came home and decided to sneak up on him, but deep down he knows better, because the voice sounded nothing like hers. Sure enough, there's nobody there – he's completely alone in the kitchen, and a quick sweep of the other rooms confirms that they're empty too.

 

_Damn._

 

He slowly makes his way into the half-furnished living room and sits down heavily in his beloved old leather recliner. There's no way around the fact that he recognized the voice – and dreaming of your ex-girlfriend may be one thing, but hearing her voice in an empty house while you're wide awake is a whole other can of worms.

 

Booth takes a deep breath and forces himself to face the facts. As much as he'd love to keep ignoring the signs, something is obviously wrong with him. He's immensely grateful that Bones all but dragged him to his latest half-yearly checkup less than a month ago, when he was so busy repairing the roof that he wanted to reschedule – even if he has never admitted it to her, the fear of his tumor returning has been his constant companion ever since he was released from the hospital, and he doesn't even want to imagine what he'd do right now without the reassuring memory of her poring over his CT scans with his doctor until she was satisfied that everything was fine. You can't grow a brain tumor in four weeks, right? But if it's not that, what he hell is going on with him?

 

"Booth?" He didn't hear Bones coming in, which is weird considering how loud the stairs creak when you climb them, but the only thing that matters is that she's here – because he knows he can no longer hide this from her, and if he has to make her worry, he wants her to have the whole truth so they can figure out together what to do about it.

 

He does his best to smile at her as she carefully sits down on the armrest of the recliner, but she doesn't return his smile; she's looking at him with her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were faced with a scientific puzzle she can't make sense of.

 

Her hand is cold against his skin when she touches his face, and he wonders whether he's running a fever.

 

"Booth, can you hear me?"

 

He wants to ask her what kind of inane question that's supposed to be, but the words won't come; the whole room is starting to spin, and the grey dots are reappearing before his eyes until the contours of her face blur and then vanish altogether. He no longer feels her hand, or the soft leather underneath him; he wants to reach out, to hold on to her, to _something_ , but his body doesn't feel connected to his brain any more. Bones' panicked voice is calling his name, but it's getting fainter, as if he were moving farther and farther away from her; he can't see anything but whirling dark and white spots until they, too, fade to black.

 

+++

 

"Booth?"

 

He has no idea how much time has passed when he hears her voice again; it sounds different than before, gentle and hesitant instead of urgent and fearful. His body feels like it's made of lead, but at least he can feel it again; as he slowly drifts back to consciousness, he becomes dimly aware that he's in a bed, and that someone is holding his hand.

 

Opening his eyes still seems like an enormous effort, and Booth decides to allow himself another moment of rest before he tries it.

 

"Booth, can you hear me?" There's no missing the anxiety in her tone, and he wishes he could do something to reassure her, but he still can't muster up the energy. A part of him idly wonders what happened, but what he really wants is to go back to sleep; he can't remember ever having been this tired before.

 

"Booth, if you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand." The clear command cuts through the haze his brain is still swimming in; no matter how tired he is, this is Bones, _his_ Bones, and he needs to pull himself together for her.

 

With enormous effort, Booth flexes his fingers. He doesn't manage much more than a twitch, and it makes every muscle up to is shoulder scream in protest, but Bones' sharp intake of breath tells him it was enough.

 

A second later, her hand is on his face again, and her voice is much closer to his ear when she speaks again. "It's me, Booth, it's Bones – do you know who I am?"

 

The question, and the flood of unpleasant memories it brings back, send a burst of energy through him. He's never going to forget the look on her face when she thought he didn't recognize her, back when he woke up from that coma, and he doesn't ever want to put her through that again.

 

Booth squeezes her hand again and notices that it's easier than a few moments before; emboldened by that, he concentrates on his eyelids and finally manages to force them open.

 

He's almost blinded by the sudden brightness, and it takes a while until the blurry picture he's seeing swims into focus. He's in a room he doesn't recognize, but there's no mistaking the drab pastel colors that scream 'hospital' even louder than the overwhelming smell of antiseptics in the air. He doesn't pay much attention to his surroundings, though, because all that matters right now is her.

 

She's still pressing her hand against his cheek, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. Booth wants to draw comfort from the reassuring familiarity of her face, but she doesn't quite look like he remembers her – she's paler and thinner, and the skin under her eyes is so translucent that it looks almost blue. She's smiling at him, but the smile stands in stark contrast to the haunted look in her eyes, and he wonders with a pang of guilt just what he put her through during a time when she should have been concentrating on nothing but her own well-being.

 

That's when it hits him.

 

Bones is perched on his bedside and leaning over him – and there's no baby bump in the way, no protruding belly that would make it impossible for her to bend at the waist.

 

Booth feels the fog in his mind thickening once more, but he struggles against it with all his might. His lips and tongue won't obey him, but he has to speak, has to ask because he needs to _know_.

 

Bones seems to understand what he's trying to do and places a gentle finger on his mouth. "You shouldn't speak, it's too soon…"

 

He ignores her and desperately wills his muscles to do his bidding. She must notice his struggles, because she gives up any attempt to stop him and leans in further until her hair is tickling his face. "What, Booth? What do you want to tell me?"

 

Booth's throat feels like it's studded with shards of glass, and the muscles in his jaw start trembling with exertion, but at long last, he manages to get two words out even though he doesn't recognize his own voice in the hoarse whisper.

 

"How… long…?"

 

She hesitates, and he begs her silently not to make him repeat the question, but then her expression tightens. "Seventy-three days."

 

_Jesus Christ_. Booth stares at her, completely and utterly stunned, as the implications of her words begin to sink in.

 

Seventy-three days.

 

He has been out for over two months.

 

He doesn't wonder what happened because right now he doesn't care. All that matters is that the last time he saw her, she was just a few days away from having her baby, and now it's _seventy-three days_ later, and he missed it all – the birth of his daughter, the first moments of that new life they created, her first scream, her first smile… she's been in this world for weeks without her father holding her, taking care of her and telling her that he loves her. And Bones – he should have been there for her every step of the way, but instead she had to go through all of it alone, had to bring their child into the world without him. She shouldn't have to think about anything but their daughter right now, but instead she's here by his bedside, ghostly pale from worry and lack of sleep, carrying his burden on top of hers.

 

Booth has to fight the temptation to slip back into the peaceful darkness he can feel hovering at the fringes of his consciousness. He knows his exhaustion is going to get the better of him soon, but he needs to hang on for a while longer.

 

Speaking hurts worse than before, and the words sound slurred to his own ears, but he has to trust that she'll understand.

 

"The baby…?"

 

Her widening eyes tell him that she heard him, but she doesn't answer. She just looks at him with a stricken expression, and then her face fades as the darkness closes in again.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

"BOOTH!"

 

He wakes with a start and claps his hands over his ears. "Jeez, Bones, you got it in for my eardrums? What's with the yelling?"

 

"I'm sorry," she replies a little sheepishly, "but you proved rather difficult to rouse. Did you have a rough day?"

 

He opens his mouth to launch into a tirade about his boss _and_ his subordinates getting on his nerves all day long, but something is holding him back. Bones cocks her head to the side and gives him an expectant look; she's sitting in her usual spot on the armrest of his recliner and absent-mindedly rubs her huge baby belly with the hand that isn't currently wrapped around his neck. Everything seems perfectly normal, but…

 

_Seventy-three days._

 

The memories come back in a rush, and Booth freezes as he begins to grasp the implications. Something is terribly wrong here – he woke up in a hospital bed just a few minutes ago, so why is he back in a moment that's three months in the past? Is he dreaming, or – the thought sends a sudden, desperate surge of hope through him – was he dreaming before, was that nightmarish scene at the hospital just that: another nightmare?

 

"Booth?" She seems puzzled by his prolonged silence, and for a second, Booth is tempted to just go with the flow, to tell her about his shitty day and pretend that everything else is okay. Then he thinks of her haunted expression and of the shadows under her eyes, and he knows that he can't take the easy way out if there's a chance she's really sitting by his bedside right now and waiting for him to come back to her.

 

Ignoring her question, he closes his eyes and concentrates. _Forget what you're seeing, what's going on around you; focus on nothing but yourself, and when you open your eyes again the dream will be over._

"Booth?" Her voice sounds different now, soft and careful – and utterly exhausted. It's that tone that makes him certain what he's going to see before he even opens his eyes. His eyelids obey him without too much resistance this time, and sure enough, there she is, perched uncomfortably on the edge of his hospital bed, his hand still clutched in hers.

 

Not a nightmare, then.

 

Booth finds that he can't muster any real disappointment; deep down he already knew things were going to turn out that way. He feels a little more awake than the first time he woke up here; his head still feels like it's stuffed with cotton wool, and his tongue like a dry piece of leather in his mouth, but he can hear the beeping and whirring of instruments in the background, the hum of the air conditioning and the low chatter of the TV on the wall.

 

Bones leans in further, filling his entire field of vision. "Can you hear me?"

 

He squeezes her hand and even manages a tiny nod, and the smile that spreads over her face lights up her tired, careworn features like the sun breaking through the clouds. Booth allows himself to bask in her smile for a moment; as longs as Bones is smiling at him that way, he can believe that everything will eventually be okay again.

 

Then he remembers the question he asked her earlier.

 

Bones frowns when she sees him trying to wet his lips with his tongue, which doesn't really work because his whole mouth feels parched. A moment later she's holding something that looks like an oversized Q-tip against his lips, and Booth feels a few soothing drops of water trickle into his mouth. "I'm sorry I can't give you any ice chips," she says, "the doctors aren't sure of your ability to swallow yet, and we can't risk you choking on anything. Is this better?"

 

Booth nods again and opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn't give him the chance. "Your neurologist asked me to call her as soon as you were fully lucid; we need to assess how much –"

 

"Bones." Speaking still hurts like hell, and she falls silent immediately when she sees how much effort it costs him to make himself heard. "What about… the baby?"

 

She turns even paler than before, and he notices with sudden dread that her eyes are filling with tears. She leans in until her forehead is pressed against his, and her voice is brittle and rough when she whispers, "I couldn't – I'm sorry, Booth, I'm so sorry."

 

Booth's mind goes strangely blank; he stares at her with utter incomprehension, waiting for her to clarify, to explain what she could possibly mean by that. She remains silent, though, and before he can ask a question, Bones sits up straight and turns away from him at the sound of the door opening.

 

"Dr. Brennan, any changes?"

 

"Yes; he just regained consciousness." She sounds completely different; this is her at her most detached and clinical, and Booth finds it both disturbing and strangely comforting in its familiarity.

 

Then a dark-haired woman in a white lab coat steps into the room, and he doesn't know what to think any more.

 

"Mr. Booth, it's good to see that you're awake." She smiles at him, but Booth just keeps staring; it's too much, everything is too much, and he suddenly wonders if –

 

"My name is Dr. Catherine Bryar; I'm your neurologist, and I'd like to ask you a couple of questions. Do you feel up to that?"

 

Booth nods automatically, his mind still reeling; he has no idea what's going on here, and if it weren't for the warmth of Bones' hand in his, he would probably start believing that this _is_ another nightmare after all.

 

The doctor checks her clipboard, then briskly turns back to him. "If you find it too difficult to speak, you can answer non-verbally. Do you know your name?"

 

Booth nods and, feeling Bones' eyes on him, manages to get out a hoarse, "Booth, Seeley Joseph." He stops himself just in time before adding his rank, then asks himself what on earth got into him. He isn't in the Army any more, after all – it feels like forever since he came back from Afghanistan.

 

"Your date of birth?"

 

"November 12, 1971." Bones is back with the wet Q-tip, and it helps a little, but Booth begins to wish they'd just let him have a sip of water.

 

"Do you know where you are?"

 

"Hospital." He's tempted to add a _duh_ , but it doesn't seem worth the effort.

 

"What is your occupation?"

 

"FBI agent."

 

He keeps his eyes on Bones, and it's obvious that she's relaxing a little more with every correct answer. Then the doctor asks, "Are you married?", and Booth can't resist squeezing Bones' hand and giving her what he hopes is recognizable as a smile while he shakes his head. He remembers her affronted expression when he told her that one day she was going to propose to _him_ , and he hopes the little nudge will make her think of it too – but she just tenses again, leaving Booth even more bewildered than before.

 

The doctor (he can't bring himself to call her Dr. Bryar in his head – there's just no way this is really Catherine) makes a note on her clipboard, then asks, "What is your son's name?"

 

"Parker". _Oh God, Parker_ – it didn't even occur to him until now what his boy must have gone through during the past weeks, but Bones understands him before he has to say anything.

 

"I called Rebecca right after you first woke up, Booth. Parker knows you're getting better, and if you'd like to see him, I'm sure it won't be a problem."

 

"Not at all," the doctor confirms, and Booth notices the look of understanding that passes between her and Bones even though he doesn't know how to interpret it. "How old is your son, Mr. Booth?"

 

The question sounds more conversational than clinical, and Booth hesitates for a moment as he tries in vain to work out today's date. He didn't miss Parker's birthday while he was out, did he? But if he didn't, that means… "Ten."

 

Bones and the doctor share another look, and Bones squeezes his hand more tightly when she says, "Don't you think that's enough for now, Dr. Bryar?"

 

"Yes, it probably is." She lowers her clipboard and turns to face Booth again. "Mr. Booth, I'd like to remove your feeding tube now; I assume it's rather uncomfortable for you."

 

"Isn't it too soon for that?" Bones sounds worried. "You don't know yet whether he'll be able to eat…"

 

"The patient is conscious and responsive, Dr. Brennan, and there should be no physiological reasons for him not to be able to swallow. He'll receive additional parenteral nutrition in the beginning, but the sooner he starts eating on his own, the better, and the nasal tube will get in the way once he becomes more mobile."

 

It begins to dawn on Booth that she's talking about whatever is sticking to the right side of his face; he didn't really pay attention to it until now, but it _is_ rather irritating. It's hardly important right now, though; he just wants the doctor to finally leave them alone so he can ask Bones what she meant about their baby –

 

Then the door opens again, and Booth draws in a sharp breath that stings all the way down to his lungs at the sight of the blonde woman who enters the room. Bones notices his reaction and places a soothing hand on his arm, but Booth barely notices it.

 

"It's okay, Booth, the nurse is just going to help Dr. Bryar remove –"

 

"No!" He barely feels the pain in his throat at the exclamation; his eyes remain fixed on Hannah Burley, who has stopped in her tracks and seems uncertain what to make of his reaction. The faint beeping of the monitor behind his bed is picking up speed, and Bones' fingers are digging into his flesh as she tries to calm him down, but he doesn't hear what she's saying. He's been doing his best to play along so far, but this is _impossible_ , this is utterly, ridiculously wrong, and whatever strange hallucination he's caught in, he needs it to be _over_ before he goes crazy.

 

Booth squeezes his eyes shut and wills his mind far away, back to the place where he belongs, where things make sense and everyone is who they really are. He can feel the darkness creeping in once more, and this time he welcomes it because he knows it's going to take him back home to his own life.

 

The next thing he's aware of is someone poking him, none too gently, in the shoulder, and he has never opened his eyes to a more beautiful sight than the heavily pregnant anthropologist who's glaring daggers at him.

 

"I know that most aspects of my work aren't interesting to you, but you usually don't fall asleep while I'm trying to tell you about my day." She sounds hurt, but Booth isn't really paying attention; he gingerly places a hand on her belly, and he can finally breathe freely again when he feels his daughter kicking against his palm.

 

"I'm sorry, I – I guess I didn't sleep too well last night."

 

"Did you have another nightmare?" She sounds more curious than concerned, and Booth is determined to keep it that way if he can.

 

"Just a couple of strange dreams, nothing to worry about." She clearly has more questions, but he doesn't need the third degree right now. "Bones, is everything okay with the baby?"

 

"Of course it is." She gives him that look he has come to know and fear – the one that tells him she's onto something. "I would inform you if I suspected that anything might be wrong with her."

 

"I know, Bones, I just – I guess it has just been a weird day. Can we please leave it at that?" He realizes that he sounds a little too desperate, but thankfully she doesn't pick up on it and decides to let him off the hook.

 

"We should probably go to bed early; you're clearly exhausted, and I'm quite tired myself. Have you eaten?"

 

Booth can't for the life of him remember if he's had anything for dinner, but since he isn't hungry, he just nods. "You?"

 

"Angela made me eat a lunch that contained enough calories for the next two days." Bones makes a face. "Sometimes I wonder whether you bribed her to stuff me with food when you're not around to do it."

 

Booth smiles faintly. "I guess she's just reliving her own pregnancy with you – do you remember how she put away a family-sized pizza for an afternoon snack?"

 

"I remember her complaining about heartburn for days afterwards." She gets up with some difficulty and holds out her hand towards him. "Can we go to bed now?"

 

As much as he'd love to accept the invitation, the idea of falling asleep fills him with a vague sense of dread.

 

"Aw, come on, Bones, it's way too early, and we've barely used our shiny new TV so far – I'll even watch one of your documentaries with you!"

 

Unfortunately, Bones has built up a tolerance to his puppy-eyed charm smile by now. "I don't want us to fall asleep on the couch, Booth – it's bad for your back, and sleeping in a half-upright position is very uncomfortable both for me and for the baby."

 

"Fine, you win." With a sigh, Booth gives in, and even though he dawdles in the bathroom and insists on reading for a while once they're in bed, he finally can't put off the moment when Bones switches off the light and declares that she really wants to sleep now. He pulls her close until her back is flush against his chest and drapes an arm around her belly; he can only hope that the reassuring feeling of their daughter lazily moving under his hand will be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

 

+++

 

The overwhelming smell of antiseptics tells Booth what he's going to see before he even opens his eyes. It's already dark outside, and the hospital room is dimly lit by the yellowish glow of a small lamp behind his bed. The shadows paint sharp lines on Bones' tired face, which makes her look much older than she is.

 

It shouldn't hurt so much to see her like this – he has just seen her glowing and vibrant with the new life she's carrying, and he knows that this can't be anything but a strangely persistent nightmare, but it feels so real, so completely unlike any dream he has ever had in his life, that he can't help the nagging doubts that are creeping in. His brain clearly isn't working as it should right now, so perhaps it was just a moment of confusion that made him see an old fling in his doctor and an ex-girlfriend in a random nurse, that made him mix up images from his earlier nightmares with the current reality? Bones is still holding his hand, and there can be no doubt that it's _her_ , the woman he knows and loves, and not some dream image that his abused brain has cooked up, no matter how much she has changed from the woman in those memories his mind keeps taking him back to.

 

Her drawn face breaks into a tentative smile when she realizes that his eyes are focused on hers. "Can you hear me?"

 

Booth just nods; his mouth is bone-dry again, and his throat is still raw from the few words he said to the doctor before.

 

"Would you like something to drink? Your doctor told me it should be okay."

 

He nods again – the prospect of a sip of water seems like a gift from heaven, and he's so focused on it that he doesn't even mind Bones holding a sippy cup to his lips and steadying the back of his head with her free hand as if he were a small child. She's careful to allow him only tiny sips, and the first mouthful almost makes him choke, but it gets easier to swallow after that. He's shaking with exhaustion by the time the cup is empty, but he still feels a hundred times better now that the inside of his mouth no longer seems made of leather.

 

Bones smiles again as she lowers the cup. "Better?"

 

"Yeah." The raspy voice still doesn't sound like his own, but at least it doesn't hurt much to talk any more, and he realizes that this may be his chance to finally get some answers.

 

"Bones… what happened?"

 

She hesitates so visibly that it makes his stomach clench with anxiety – whatever she doesn't want to tell him, it must be bad.

 

"Booth, you just regained consciousness, I think it would be wise to wait until…"

 

"No." His fingers inch across the blanket until they find her hand again. "Tell me."

 

She gives him a strange look, but then she squares her shoulders and nods briskly. "Very well. Do you remember that you had a brain tumor?"

 

_Oh fuck._ So you _can_ grow a new tumor in four weeks.

 

Booth curses himself for being such an idiot. He should have recognized the signs instead of trying to ignore them, should have told her the truth instead of hiding it from her just because he couldn't admit even to himself that he was having hallucinations again. He's been through the same thing before, after all, he should have _known_.

 

It takes him a while to realize that Bones is waiting for an answer, so he just nods again; there isn't anything he can say.

 

"The tumor was successfully removed, but you had an adverse reaction to the anesthetics that were used during the operation, and it caused you to slip into a coma."

 

Booth wishes she would get to the point already; he knows his own medical history, and he doesn't need her to rehash it for him. "I know." He squeezes her hand and adds, because he wants her to understand that there's nothing wrong with his memory, "You wrote a book."

 

Her face loses the last bit of color at his words, and her wide-eyed stare makes the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten. His heartbeat is suddenly overly loud in his own ears, and he's dimly aware of the accelerating beeps from the monitor by his bedside. He wants her to keep talking, but she just stares at him until he can't take the silence any longer.

 

"Bones, what… what's wrong?"  
  
"You – how do you… never mind." He can see how she's struggling for composure, and she's squeezing his hand so tightly that it borders on painful. She sounds calmer when she continues, but the slight tremble in her voice tells him it's not without effort.

 

"You started having seizures, which affected your brain's oxygen supply, and you…"

 

Booth listens with growing bewilderment, but her words sound slurred, and they're beginning to run together until he can only distinguish a few snippets of what she's saying.

 

_ICU… on a ventilator… minimally conscious… several weeks…_

 

He tries to concentrate harder, to make sense of the things she's telling him, but they're drowned out by the hammering of his own heartbeat until, at last, a soft, drowsy voice cuts through the din.

 

"What's the matter?"

 

Booth takes a deep breath and feels his racing pulse beginning to slow down. The darkness that surrounds him feels warm and safe; he's in his bed, _their_ bed, and the faint kick against his forearm tells him Bones isn't the only one he just woke up.

 

"Nothing." He tightens his arm around her belly and presses a kiss on her temple, gratefully inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. "I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

 

"…kay…"

 

She's out like a light a second later, but Booth keeps his eyes open and tries to stay awake as long as possible.

 

+++

 

When he wakes up, it's with a feeling of profound disorientation. He's in a hospital room that looks somewhat familiar, but he can't for the life of him remember how he got here. Booth is dimly aware that something pretty serious happened to him, but he's hazy on the details – something with his brain? It would explain why he's feeling like he got run over by a truck, but can't pinpoint any specific sources of pain – he's been shot, stabbed, burned, and beaten before, so he's familiar with the pain associated with all kinds of injuries, but right now he's just aching all over.

 

He's alone in the room, and from the faint light filtering through the blinds he estimates that it's very early in the morning, so it probably will be some time until anyone shows up to tell him what's going on. He isn't overly worried about that at the moment; he somehow knows with absolute certainty that Bones will be back later to check on him, and he's sure she'll have all the details he could possibly want. He just hopes she won't feel obliged to get up at the crack of dawn for his sake; him being in the hospital must be hard enough on her, and stress isn't good for the baby.

 

With nothing else to do at the moment, Booth takes stock of his situation. The room looks like every hospital room he's ever been in, although he isn't familiar with most of the machines he's hooked up to; aside from the usual little clothespin thingie on his finger, he also detects a small plastic tube sticking out just above his collarbone.

 

He shifts a little and winces, both at the dull pain the movement causes and at the realization that he must be in pretty bad shape because he's not only catheterized, but also wearing plastic under his hospital gown. Waking up in hospital diapers is not a new experience for him, but he figures it's one of those things you don't ever get used to. He still can't detect any injuries, but he's shocked by how spindly his arms look, and how much muscle mass he seems to have lost in general. It would explain why every move makes him feel like he's got lead weights tied to his limbs, but it also makes him wonder with mounting dread how long he's been here already. Booth is suddenly anxious for Bones to come back; he hates this helpless feeling of having no clue what's going on, and she'll not only be able to tell him why he's here, she'll also know why he can't remember any of it.

 

The person walking through the door a while later isn't Bones, though – she's a nurse, fifty-ish, slightly overweight and with an air of motherliness about her. She cheerfully bids him a good morning, sticks a thermometer in his mouth while she checks the readings on several monitors, and then tells him it's time to get him cleaned up.

 

Booth keeps his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling and falls back on the detachment technique he learned after his ill-fated tour in Iraq, when he couldn't leave his hospital bed for several weeks; this part will never stop being humiliating, but trying to separate his mind from what's happening to his body eases the sting of it somewhat. The nurse is quick and efficient, and she keeps up her cheery prattle about everything from today's weather forecast to last night's talk shows until she's done. As soon as Booth has his blanket safely pulled up to his chest again, she pushes the button that raises the head of his bed and informs him brightly that he's in for a special treat for breakfast; a few minutes later she's back with a pudding cup.

 

Booth eyes her suspiciously. "I'm getting pudding for breakfast?"

 

"Dr. Brennan requested it specifically, but you sound like you could use something to drink first."

 

His mouth is indeed uncomfortably dry, and he figures it's the reason why his throat feels so sore when he's talking, but he balks when the nurse brings a cup with a straw and holds it to his lips.

 

"I can hold it myself."

 

"I'm sure you can, but how about we hold it together for now, hm?" The patronizing tone grates on his nerves, and the fact that he quickly discovers he does indeed have trouble holding the cup does nothing to ease his irritation. She admonishes him to take small sips, and Booth is tempted to drink down the entire contents of the cup in one go out of spite, but swallowing turns out to be pretty unpleasant, so he figures she has a point. He puts up some resistance when she insists on spoon-feeding him the pudding, but she'll have none of it, and Booth eventually gives in because he learned the hard way that you don't piss off the people who have you at their mercy as long as you need help with wiping your ass.

 

+++

 

To Booth's disappointment, his next visitor still isn't Bones; this one's a young, round-faced brunette with dimples in her cheeks and a smile that looks a lot less fake than the nurse's. She's not wearing scrubs, which makes for a welcome change, and Booth can't help the nagging feeling that he knows her, although he can't remember where he could possibly have met her.

 

"Hi." She drops the bag she was carrying on the floor by his bedside. "It's nice to meet you at last. I'm Genevieve –"

 

"Shaw." Booth has no idea where it came from, but he knew her name as soon as she started speaking.

 

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it. "That's right, but you can call me Genny."

 

"You're not a doctor."

 

"No, I'm your coma worker." At Booth's frown, she adds, "I work with patients in withdrawn states of consciousness because they often have a certain level of awareness, and sometimes they can learn to communicate." It sounds like something she has recited a million times. "Now that you're awake, you don't need me for that any longer, but I'm also a trained physiotherapist, so I'm going to keep working with you during your recovery."

 

_Coma_. The word triggers memories – didn't Bones talk about it just a short while ago? He already knew that he must have been out for quite a while, so this explains a few things. Still...

 

" _Will_ I recover? I mean... completely?" He doesn't bother asking what happened; he'll get all the details as soon Bones comes back, but this can't wait. His heart is in his throat, but he needs to hear the truth – better to know right away what odds he is facing.

 

Her expression gives nothing away. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you at this point. I'm not evading your question – it's too soon to tell, and your doctors will probably be able to give you a clearer answer after the first round of tests."

 

He appreciates the honesty, but his disappointment must show on his face, because she gives him an encouraging smile. "The fact that you woke up is the best sign there is, so we're going to take things from there. One step at a time, okay?"

 

"Okay." He doesn't like it, but there's nothing he can do at the moment but focus on the present. "So what happens now?"

 

"That's up to you. What's the first goal you'd like to achieve?"

 

Booth rolls his eyes; that one's a no-brainer. "Using the bathroom without help."

 

She nods. "Then we'll begin working towards that. We usually have our therapy sessions in the morning, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to keep it that way."

 

Booth shrugs; it's not like he has any other pressing appointments. "Sure."

 

"Great. Dr. Brennan usually comes in around noon, but I'm sure she'll be earlier now that you're conscious, so we better make sure we're done before she's here."

 

"Why?" It doesn't make sense – he'd have expected Bones to insist on overseeing every step of his treatment.

 

"Dr. Brennan assumed that her presence during therapy would be embarrassing for you. I kept her informed about your progress since she's your medical proxy, but she's never here during our sessions."

 

"But... if I was in a coma, how could it be embarrassing?" The whole thing is strange – he and Bones have been living together for months, so why did she think he'd mind her being present for this?

 

Genny smiles. "You knew my name, didn't you?"

 

Booth isn't sure what to make of that. "We've never met before... this?"

 

"Nope." Noticing his bewildered expression, she adds, "Look, Seeley – can I call you Seeley?" Booth just nods, and she continues, "I know everything is confusing right now. Your brain has been through a lot, and it needs time to re-adjust. We still know very little about what goes on in a person's mind while they're in a coma, so much of what we're doing here is trial and error. Just don't give up, okay?"

 

"Okay." That, at least, is a promise he can safely make – he's got too much to lose to stop fighting for it. He was finally living the life he always wanted, and he wants it _back_. "But I still don't get how you can _look_ familiar to me."

 

"You went through several phases of minimal consciousness, during which you had your eyes open and reacted to outward stimuli. It's not surprising that you know me, but it's encouraging that you remember." She smiles again, and there's a hint of admiration to it that gives him an eerie flash of déjà vu. "Dr. Brennan wasn't exaggerating – you're one hell of a fighter, Seeley."

 

Booth winces at the use of his first name, and then asks himself why on earth he told her she could call him by it. He has hated the name since his childhood, how could he possibly have forgotten that? Then again, at least she's not calling him _Sir_ any more.

 

...wait. Booth shakes his head, as if that could clear the fuzzy images whirling in his mind. He _has_ seen her before, but it wasn't like this – she was somebody else entirely...

 

"Everything okay?" She doesn't sound worried, merely a little curious, but Booth has no idea how to explain to her what's going on.

 

"I remember you, but..." He desperately searches for a way to explain that doesn't make her think he has lost it completely. "You were different."

 

"Different how?" She still doesn't seem alarmed, and he has no idea whether that's a good sign or not. When he doesn't answer, she adds gently, "Look, I may not be a doctor, but patient confidentiality still applies, so you there's nothing you can't tell me. Not even Dr. Brennan will hear of it now that you no longer need her to make decisions for you."

 

It's something, but it's not enough. "It's pretty weird."

 

She smiles again. "Weird is a given in my line of work. Trust me, I've heard it all. So – I was different how?"

 

"You..." Booth hesitates, but then presses on. "You were an FBI agent."

 

"Cool!" She seems genuinely excited about the idea. "With a gun and a badge, and everything?"

 

Despite himself, Booth has to laugh at her eagerness. What is it with squints and guns? "Yeah, the whole shebang."

 

She grins at that, and somehow it makes him feel better about the entire thing. "Seeley, since _you_ are an FBI agent, it's not surprising at all that you would insert your impression of me into a scenario that was familiar to you."

 

"At least I still remember _being_ an FBI agent this time." He meant it as a joke, but Genny cocks her head to the side as if he'd said something meaningful.

 

"This time? You were in a coma before?"

 

Booth is surprised she doesn't know, considering that Bones probably gave her his medical history all the way back to Pops' great-grandparents. Or is this a test of some kind? "Yeah, and I woke up thinking that I was a night club owner."

 

"Interesting." She ponders for a moment, but then she claps her hands and folds back his blanket. "Okay, let's get started, shall we?"

 

+++

 

By the time Genny bids him good-bye, Booth is not only weary to the bone, but also massively frustrated. She wouldn't even hear of letting him get out of bed; hell, he wasn't even allowed to put his feet on the floor. All he got to do was move around in bed a little, and the worst of it was that she was clearly right about going slowly because he feels like he just ran a marathon. He slumps back into the pillows as soon as Genny is out the door, and he's about to doze off when he hears another set of footsteps approaching.

 

_Bones, finally._

 

However, the woman he sees when he opens his eyes is a nurse, younger and much prettier than the first one, with bright blue eyes and long blond hair that is tied back in a ponytail.

 

Booth feels like the room just tilted to the side, so that everything is slightly off center. Something is wrong here, but he can't tell what it is, he just knows that this is not how things are supposed to be, and that it's somehow connected to...

 

"Hannah?"

 

He has no idea what made him call her that; he has no memory of her, he just knows that he _knows_ her, with a certainty that is much stronger than what he felt when he first saw Genny.

 

She stops in her tracks and gives him a surprised smile, and that smile – impish with just a hint of flirtatiousness – heightens the nervous flutter in his stomach. "That's right! How did you know?"

 

Booth doesn't have an answer to that, but she's not waiting for one anyway. "I'll just give you the second part of your breakfast; Dr. Bryar wants you to eat normally as soon as possible, but in the beginning we're going to help you along a bit with IV nutrition."

 

She hooks up the IV bag she brought and then steps closer to the bed. Booth flinches when she reaches towards him, and she holds up her hand in a placating gesture.

 

"No needles, I promise – I'll just connect this to the central IV line in your shoulder, you won't feel a thing."

 

Booth clenches his teeth and forces himself to hold still; she's now close enough for him to smell her, and that scent, too, is disturbingly familiar and completely wrong at the same time.

 

"See? All done." She steps away, and Booth manages to relax a little. He desperately hopes she'll leave, but she goes to re-check the readings on his monitors while she starts talking about something she heard on the news this morning. Booth has no idea what to make of it, so he keeps silent; he wouldn't know what to say to her anyway.

 

"I'm sorry," she says when she's done, "that was force of habit, I guess – Dr. Brennan asked me to talk to you whenever I could, and I guess I'm so used to it by now that my mouth switches to autopilot as soon as I'm in here." She grins, and Booth has to look away because his mind keeps tying itself into knots trying to remember where he has seen that expression before. "Maybe you woke up because you just couldn't take my constant chatter any more, huh?"

 

She clearly expects a reaction to the joke, but Booth barely notices it. "Have you been in here a lot?" He's sure he doesn't remember her from a hospital room, but he didn't remember Genny from one either, and he can only hope this is another strange mix-up his comatose mind came up with.

 

"Yeah, both here and while you were in the ICU. Your coma worker thought that it was better for you if you didn't have to adapt to new nursing personnel all the time. There's three of us, but I cover most of the day shifts." She gives him a calculating look that makes him deeply uncomfortable. "Looks like Genny was right, given that you know my name."

 

Booth shakes his head again; he feels like he's just a heartbeat away from remembering what's going on, but somehow the answer keeps eluding him. As familiar as she seems, he could swear that it's been some time since he last saw her, and he's absolutely _certain_ it wasn't in a hospital...

 

"How long have you been working here?"

 

He hopes the question sounds casual enough not to tip her off, and to his relief, she just shrugs. "At this hospital, you mean? Almost five years. Why?"

 

It doesn't make sense – he can't have been in a coma for five years, can he?

 

There's only one thing he can still ask, and no matter how much it terrifies him, he needs to get a grip on himself unless he wants his heart monitor to give away just how close he is to panicking.

 

Taking a deep breath, Booth tries to muster up every ounce of self-control he possesses.

 

"Hannah – what day is it?"

 

"Today's Tuesday the twenty-first." At his expectant look, she clarifies, "July twenty-first", but that still doesn't help him.

 

"And... the year?"

 

Now she hesitates. "Look, perhaps I shouldn't –"

 

" _Tell me_!"

 

She seems a little taken aback by the sudden outburst, and Booth hears the accelerating beeps that will inform her exactly how close he is to losing it completely, but he needs to _know_.

 

"Hannah, _please_ tell me." He has no idea how he managed to sound calmer, but it does the trick.

 

"2009 – but you really need to calm down, or I'll have to..."

 

He's no longer listening to her; all he can hear is his heartbeat thundering in his ears, so loud that it drowns out even the shrill beeping of the monitor. Like a river flooding everything in its path once the dam breaks, his memories are rushing back in, drowning his mind in images, sounds, and smells, and in the shadows of forgotten nightmares.

 

You forgot, you forgot it all – you almost fell for this, almost let yourself get pulled into it, and God alone knows if you would ever have made it back... Stop this while there is still time, get out while you still can before you lose what's left of your mind!

 

Booth squeezes his eyes shut and brutally clamps down on his rising panic; it's not too late yet, but he needs to put an end to this right now, needs to go home before he can't find the way any longer.

 

No matter how real it feels, this is nothing but a nightmare, and you need to stop dreaming and go back to where you belong. Focus, focus on yourself, on who you know you are, hold on to it with all your might, and when you open your eyes the dream will be over.

 

Focus...

 

"Booth, can you hear me?"

 

He almost sobs with relief when her voice cuts through the turmoil in his mind, and even though she sounds shrill and alarmed, he's sure he has never heard anything more beautiful in his life.

 

Booth takes a deep breath that feels like a heavy weight being lifted off his chest, and finally dares to open his eyes again.

 

Bones, her face pale and drawn, is standing in the door of the hospital room and regards him with a look that is heavy with fear and sorrow.

 

"No…"

 

It's his voice, although he barely recognizes it; it sounds scratchy and hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in weeks. He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes against hope that the scene is going to change, that he'll finally find himself back home when he opens them again, but he can't block out the constant beeping of his heart monitor that makes it perfectly, cruelly clear there'll be no way out of this nightmare for him.

 

"Booth?"

 

Her voice is soft and calm now, but the small tremble is impossible to miss, and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek finally forces him to open his eyes and look at her.

 

The pallor of her skin, the bruise-like shadows under her eyes, the clothes that hang loosely around her frame as if she'd lost weight recently – she barely resembles the woman he remembers, happy and healthy and heavily pregnant with their child, but it's still her, his Bones, the woman he'd know everywhere no matter how she looks.

 

And yet it can't, it mustn't –

 

"Booth, you need to calm down." Her hand is still on his cheek, its warmth the only anchor in a sea of confusion and growing panic, and he tries to focus on that, on her touch and the sound of her voice because everything else is too much right now.

 

"Please, Booth." She can't hide the anxiety in her tone any more, as if it were rising in synch with the accelerating beeps of the heart monitor. "They'll have to sedate you if your heart rate and blood pressure get too high, and I can't – not again…"

 

For a second, Booth experiences a wild rush of hope. This is his way out, his way home, a way to end this horror trip – but it means leaving her behind, leaving her with the fear and the pain he can see in her expression, hear in her voice, and the realization that he won't be able to do it hits him like a physical blow. It's too much to ask, too much…

 

"Please."

 

There isn't anything he can deny her when she's pleading with him like that, not even this, and Booth pulls himself together as much as he can and tries to focus, to get the turmoil in his mind under control before it swallows him up completely.

 

When there's nothing you can do about the big picture, focus on the task at hand. It's an old bit of cop wisdom that he has never liked much, but it suddenly makes sense, and perhaps it will manage to keep him from losing his mind.

 

"Okay." It sounds like an admission of defeat, and Booth feels a pang of shame as if he had run away where he was supposed to fight, but he isn't sure any longer who or what he's really fighting – or fighting for – right now. So he clings to the tentative smile that blossoms on her face as the frantic beeping of the monitor starts to slow down, and once more he tells himself that things are going to be all right eventually as long as he has her smiling at him like that.

 

"Will you be okay for the time being, Dr. Brennan?"

 

He does a double take at the question because he completely forgot about the nurse who's still standing by his bedside, and he turns his head away as much as he can so he won't have to look at her again. Bones just nods at the woman, and then Hannah's retreating footsteps tell him that she, and the feeling of utter wrongness that threatens to overwhelm him whenever she's near him, are finally gone from the room.

 

Focus on the task at hand.

 

The thought brings an unexpected surge of slightly desperate energy. "Bones… there's something I need you to do for me."

 

She looks surprised, but somehow pleased as well. "Anything you need, Booth."

 

It sounds strange coming from her; he'd have expected her to ask what he wants first before she makes any promises. "I don't want her to come back."

 

"Her? You mean Nurse Burley?"

 

He just nods, silently pleading with her not to ask the obvious question.

 

Bones seems taken aback, but she rallies quickly. "I suppose I could ask to have her removed from the team – but she has taken excellent care of you ever since you were first transferred to the ICU, and I'm reluctant to have her replaced by someone less familiar with your case. Has she… done anything?"

 

He should have known better than to expect Bones not to try to get to the bottom of a problem. "No, not at all, but… she was there, Bones. I mean, not… her, but someone just like her." God, this is hard – admitting to Genny Shaw that he had believed her to be someone else was one thing, but telling Bones about that other life, even in the vaguest of terms, feels so utterly wrong that he can barely bring himself to say the words. For just a second, he allows himself to wonder if somewhere else, he's right now lying in bed with her and telling her about the strange dream he had of her sitting by his hospital bed.

 

"Oh." He didn't think Bones would understand, and he's already searching for a way to clarify things without giving too much away, but it looks like he underestimated her. "You mean that you had some perception of her while you were in a coma? Miss Shaw said that there was a chance you would be partially aware of your surroundings."

 

"I – yeah." He's almost trembling with relief that she's making it easy for him; he really doesn't want to explain why he'd rather die than have Hannah show up for his next morning routine. "And now she's here, but different, and it's… confusing."

 

"I understand." She's quiet for a moment; then she adds, "I'm sure Nurse Burley will too if I explain it to her."

 

"Thank you." Booth slowly becomes aware he's so tense that his muscles are beginning to ache all over, and he allows himself to relax a little – too soon, as it turns out.

 

"Was I… there as well?"

 

Oh God. He manages a curt nod and focuses on keeping his breathing even; the damned beeps are picking up speed again, and he doesn't want to send her into another panic. Please let it go, Bones, just let it go…

 

"And was I different too?"

 

"You were pregnant." The answer is out before he has time to think about it, and he regrets it immediately. It just seems wrong to tell her, to drag the life they shared back home into this strange reality – almost as if he were letting go of it by talking about it, as if he were severing the precious connection by sharing it with someone who isn't part of it.

 

Then he looks at her, really looks at her, and her stricken expression makes him feel like the world's most selfish bastard.

 

"Would you prefer me to leave too?" She's struggling to keep up the clinical tone, but he knows her too well to fall for it. For a split second he wonders if she's preparing to run again, but then he realizes she's terrified of getting 'yes' for an answer.

 

And yet he can't bring himself to reassure her that he's not pushing her away because the temptation to do just that is suddenly overwhelming. She may not be looking for an out, but she's giving him one, and it dawns on Booth that this could be the break he has been hoping for. He's been holding on for her sake, but maybe he needs to let her go in order to end this, to finally go back to where he belongs, to the woman he's really supposed to be with.

 

However… for the first time, he can't bring himself to dismiss the possibility that this is the only reality that exists, that the Temperance Brennan who sits by his bedside fighting tears is the only one there is in the world, and the thought of letting her walk away again fills him with a kind of dread that is all too familiar. The memory of those agonizing first months in Afghanistan, when he missed her so much that the loneliness felt like a constant, physical ache, is suddenly fresh in his mind, and he knows that even the smallest risk of losing her for good is too much for him to take.

 

He took that gamble once, and the outcome taught him never to do it again.

 

With some effort, Booth manages to reach for her hand. "Don't leave me." He meant it as a reassurance, but somehow it comes out like a plea.

 

Her expression changes in an instant; she doesn't smile, but the desperate look is gone, and instead he finally sees a Bones he recognizes, fiercely determined and completely focused on the goal she sees before here. "I won't. We'll get you through this, Booth, I promise."

 

Booth squeezes her hand and tries very hard to believe her.

 

+++

 

The rest of the day passes in a strange kind of blur. There's a long string of tests and medical exams; several doctors and therapists want to poke and prod him or ask him endless questions, and Booth just lets it happen, lets them do whatever they please and only reacts when it's absolutely necessary. Bones is by his side most of the time, and through the questions she keeps asking (even though he can't muster the energy to do it himself) Booth gets a few snippets of information that paint a rather grim picture. He learns that the soreness in his throat is a result of prolonged intubation, that he first – briefly – regained consciousness in the ICU when he started struggling against the breathing tube, that on top of everything else he caught some kind of post-operative infection which is partly responsible for his overall weakness.

 

"You're one hell of a fighter." Dr. Bryar unknowingly echoes Genny's words when she shows up with an armful of test results late in the afternoon, and Booth tries not to think about how much he doesn't feel like fighting right now. He focuses on Bones' hand on his arm while the woman he could still swear he used to date starts explaining the results to him; from Bones' eager reaction, it's mostly good news, and even though Booth feels strangely detached from the whole thing, he's glad to see her careworn features brighten with every new bit of information.

 

According to Dr. Bryar, he has a 50:50 chance of making a full recovery, which is obviously a lot given the duration of his coma; she doesn't sugarcoat the fact that it will take a long time and a lot of hard work for him to recover both physically and mentally, and Booth just nods and leaves it to Bones to ask about details and treatment plans and suggested therapies. He's so exhausted by now that the only thing he really wants to do is sleep, and he's about to doze off when a half-heard remark jostles him back to full wakefulness.

 

"It's quite frequent for long-time coma patients to have trouble adjusting once they regain full consciousness, so you might consider psychological counsel to help with the process. Dr. Brennan informed me that you used to work with a therapist –"

 

"No." The answer is out before he even thinks about it. "You're not bringing Sweets into this."

 

"Booth…" Bones sounds hesitant, as if she weren't sure herself which side she's on. "You know my general opinion on psychology, but Dr. Bryar is one of the country's leading neurologists, and if she thinks that working with a psychologist you're already familiar with could be beneficial –"

 

"I said no." Booth isn't even sure why he's so adamant about this; he has always rather liked Sweets, but for some reason he's absolutely certain that he needs to keep the kid out of his personal business. "I'll do whatever you want me to do if you think it'll help, but Sweets stays out of it."

 

Dr. Bryar just shrugs and crosses something off her clipboard, but Bones isn't so easily deterred. "Would it be acceptable for you to work with Dr. Wyatt instead?"

 

Booth frowns; the last memory he has of Gordon Gordon is of a crowded, noisy kitchen, but he knows how little his memories count for these days. "I thought – I mean, isn't he a chef now?"

 

He's fully prepared for that careful, calculating look he has gotten more than once today when he answered the doctors' questions, but to his utter relief, she nods. "That's what he was planning, but I could ask him if he'd be willing to…"

 

"It's okay, Bones." Booth has had enough; he's so tired that he just wants this whole thing to be over. "I'm sure there's time to decide later."

 

"That's not a problem." Dr. Bryar seems to get the hint. "I'll send in the nurse to get you ready for the night; you still need plenty of rest, and it's been a stressful day for you."

 

Booth feels a pang of loss when Bones immediately lets go of his hand and walks out with the doctor, although he's glad of it when, just a few minutes later, the same matronly nurse who was here in the morning enters to take him through another round of the humiliating process that they politely call "cleaning up". She's still prattling the whole time, and Booth barely listens to any of it until a question that was probably meant to sound teasing brings him up short.

 

"I hear you kicked poor Hannah to the curb?"

 

Booth stares at her, uncertain how to react; he isn't sure what to make of the sudden onslaught of memories, of ripples on the dark surface of a pond and the sound of Hannah's voice telling him "We can just go back", and he struggles against the familiar feeling of the world suddenly tilting sideways so that everything is just slightly off. The nurse must notice his bewildered expression, because she takes pity on him.

 

"You said you no longer wanted her around, remember? Something about her showing up in your fantasies while you were out?"

 

The world slowly rights itself, now that he remembers his earlier conversation with Bones, and he's about to dismiss the whole thing when the nurse asks with a smirk, "Do I want to know what those were about?"

 

Booth doesn't answer, but the hot rush of blood to his face does it for him, and the nurse shakes her head and mutters something about guys being guys even when they're comatose while she finishes her work.

 

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him, and he keeps his eyes shut until he can hear her shuffling out of the room. He can't remember when he has last felt so utterly mortified, and he just wants for his day to be over so he can finally give in to the exhaustion.

 

He wants to scream when the door opens again, but he pulls himself together when it turns out that it's Bones, a pudding cup in her hand and a hopeful expression on her face. "I'll let you sleep in a moment, but I thought you might like something to eat first."

 

He isn't the slightest bit hungry, but the fact that she obviously wants to take care of him – bringing him food would be the nurses' job, after all – still brightens his mood a little. He isn't happy with the idea of Bones having to spoon-feed him, but right now he's too worn out to fight her about it.

 

"You'll soon be able to eat on your own." It still amazes him how easily she reads him sometimes, and he gives her a grateful nod as he forces down another mouthful. Swallowing is still pretty unpleasant, but according to the doctors it will get better now that all the tubes are out. He's so tired that the room is beginning to spin around him, and Bones gets up as soon as he has finished the pudding.

 

"You need to rest now, Booth; I'll see you tomorrow." She leans over him, and Booth expectantly turns his face towards her. There's a small, sharp sting of disappointment when her lips only brush his forehead, but before he can react, she whispers "Good night" and steps away from the bed. She closes the blinds on her way out, and even though the light of the bright summer evening still filters through, Booth feels the welcoming darkness creep in as soon as the door falls shut behind her.

 

He's almost giddy with relief that he's on his own at last, with no demands or obligations to hold him back, and Booth recalls the soft sounds of her breaths next to him in bed, the tiny, fluttering movements of their daughter under his hand on her belly, and he finally lets the darkness show him the way.

 

The hospital sounds around him are slowly fading as the last of the light disappears, and Booth takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and goes home.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

"Wake up, Booth, you're going to be late!"

 

Booth slowly comes to while she keeps poking him, but when he tries to open his eyes, he experiences a wave of dizziness that leaves him groggy and disoriented. At long last, the scene before him swims into focus, revealing his fully dressed partner trying to bend over him as much as her huge belly will allow.

 

"Bones – what…"

 

"You wanted to drop me off at the lab before your meeting with Sweets, remember? I can drive myself, of course, but –"

 

"No way." Booth is out of bed in an instant. "A woman shouldn't drive at nine months pregnant, okay? Just give me ten minutes."

 

She rolls her eyes at him, but doesn't otherwise protest – they've had this argument before, and even though she'll still get behind the wheel if neither he nor Angela are available, it's obvious that it has become pretty uncomfortable for her. True to his word, they're in his SUV and on their way to the Jeffersonian less than fifteen minutes later, and even though he's still battling some remaining vestiges of drowsiness, those will hopefully disappear as soon as he gets some caffeine into his system. Their house is a coffee-free zone these days because she's suffering from massive caffeine withdrawal, and he figures he should abstain along with her out of co-parental solidarity – but that doesn't mean he won't swing by the nearest Starbucks once he's out of her sight.

 

Yet he can't get rid of the weird feeling that something isn't as it should be, and it keeps getting stronger the closer they get to the lab. Booth does his best to shake it off, but the feeling won't go away, and once he pulls into the Jeffersonian parking lot and kills the engine, he can't keep quiet any longer.

 

"Bones?"

 

She's about to lean in for their usual quick good-bye kiss, but stops at his tone and gives him a puzzled look. "Yes?"

 

"None of this is real, is it?"

 

She stares at him with utter confusion, and Booth feels the same way himself – he has no idea where that question came from, and nobody was more surprised than he when he heard it coming out of his mouth.

 

She keeps looking at him, but her expression slowly softens into one of – pity? "No, of course not."

 

It's his turn to stare at her. "What?"

 

"It's going to be okay." She gently places her hand on his cheek. "Close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, and –"

 

"No, I don't…" He struggles against her touch – he has no idea why, but somehow he knows that bad things will happen if he listens to her. She isn't deterred by his protest, though; she just gives him a sad little smile and keeps her hand where it is, and in spite of his struggling Booth can't keep his eyes from falling shut.

 

It takes enormous effort to open them again. The warmth of her skin on his is still there, as is the strange little smile on her face, but everything else is different. He's back at the hospital, and Bones looks tired and way too thin, but his head is suddenly clear, and he takes in his surroundings as if he'd never really seen them before.

 

The room, the hospital bed, the monitors he's hooked up to – he remembers it all, and yet he has the distinct feeling that he's missing something, the crucial piece of the puzzle that will finally make everything fall into place.

 

"Good morning." Bones' voice is hushed. "I didn't mean to wake you, but I wanted to check on you before the nurse starts making her rounds. How are you feeling?"

 

Booth has no idea how to answer. There's no pain right now, not even in his throat, but he isn't sure what to make of the unexpected sensation of almost uncomfortable clarity that – ironically – leaves him utterly confused.

 

He gently shakes his head and tries to make sense of the things he remembers. Seventy-three days… he's been in a coma for seventy-three days, hasn't he? He's certain that Bones told him about it, and it explains why she isn't pregnant any more… but why hasn't she said anything about their baby? Their baby – the baby she wanted so badly…

 

Wait. What did Hannah – no, Nurse Burley tell him about the date? But if it's really so much earlier than he thought, then… Bones can't have given birth yet, can she? He dimly recalls talking with her about the baby on the way to the operating room, and she didn't even look pregnant then – so if it's less than eleven weeks later now, maybe there's no baby bump yet because she's only a few months along? But there's something he's missing, some piece of information that could complete the picture, and try as he might, Booth can't seem to remember it.

 

Still, the realization that he didn't miss the birth of their child after all leaves him with an almost drunk feeling of elation, and he gives her a bright smile that makes her expression light up in return.

 

"I'm good."

 

Her face goes slack with relief; she exhales sharply, and for a moment she looks close to tears. "I'm so glad, Booth. I have to go now before the nurses throw me out, but I'll be back later, okay? Things are quite busy at the lab, but I already told Cam that I'll be leaving sooner every day now that you're awake, and –"

 

"Hey, don't stress yourself too much, okay? I'll be fine, and I'll see you later." Booth basks in the way she beams at him, and it's surprisingly easy to lift his hand and slide it around her neck as she leans in to kiss him good-bye. It seems like she didn't expect him to be able to move towards her, but he turns his head and meets her halfway to press a soft kiss on her lips. "Love you, Bones."

 

She draws in a breath that almost sounds like a gasp, and her smile fades as the color drains from her face. Booth experiences a sharp spike of fear; is something wrong? The last weeks must have been horrible for her, and there's no telling what such an ordeal might do to a pregnant woman…

 

"Dr. Brennan, you really shouldn't be here at this hour." The nurse only sounds mildly disapproving as she enters the room, but Bones is out of her seat in an instant.

 

"I – I'll just go…"

 

Booth calls after her to ask her what's wrong, but she doesn't seem to hear him and all but runs out of the room, leaving him worried and more than a little bewildered.

 

"Nurse, is everything all right with Bo- with Dr. Brennan? I mean – is she okay?"

 

The nurse's business-like expression softens. "I'm sure she'll be fine now that you're getting better. Just give her time and don't worry, okay? From what I've seen, she's a tough cookie."

 

"Right." Booth makes a mental note to remind Bones to take it easy when she comes back; he appreciates that she wants to be there for him, but she needs to take care of herself too, both for her sake and for the baby's.

 

+++

 

"Seeley, you need to be a little more patient – these things take time, and you'll only make matters worse by overexerting yourself."

 

Genny sounds calm, but there's an edge to her tone that tells him she's none too pleased with him. He doesn't really care, though; today's therapy session was no less frustrating than yesterday's, and even though she at least let him try to sit up today, the fact that he barely managed to stay upright makes him want to scream. He's so exhausted that he can hardly move any more, and he can't imagine how he'll ever get back to anything approaching his old self at this rate.

 

"Whatever." He knows he sounds like a petulant teenager, but right now he doesn't give a damn; he feels trapped in the useless wreck his body has become, and he doesn't see how things are supposed to get better when he can't even do any real exercising to build up his strength again.

 

"Hey, don't give me that." The Genny Shaw he remembers would never have dared to take such a stern tone with him, and for a moment Booth almost wants that version back. "You've already proven you can fight, you don't get to give up now."

 

"I'm not giving up!" It comes out harsher than he intended. "It's just… this is going to take forever."

 

"No, it's not. You're making a lot of progress already, even if you can't see the results yet, but I promise you will soon."

 

"Okay." Booth sinks back into the pillow and takes a deep, shaky breath, suddenly ashamed of his childish outburst. He'll need to do better than that if he wants Bones to stop worrying about him, and the thought reminds him of her strange behavior earlier.

 

"Genny, can I ask you something? Something about Dr. Brennan?"

 

She hesitates. "Look, I'm hardly the person to –"

 

"Please." He does his best to slip a bit of the old Booth charm into his tone. "She's going to deny it if I ask her because she doesn't want to upset me, but I think something's going on with her. You've seen her a lot during the past weeks, haven't you?"

 

"Of course I have; she's the one who brought me in to work with you."

 

Booth frowns. "I thought you worked for the hospital."

 

Genny shakes her head. "I'm an independent practitioner."

 

"Huh." He's a little surprised, but the details hardly seem important right now. "So – do you think she's okay? She seemed a bit off today."

 

Her expression softens in a way that reminds him of the nurse's earlier reaction to the same question. "A prolonged coma is always hard on the people close to the patient, especially when there are phases of minimal consciousness like you had them. It sounds strange, but it's often more difficult to deal with the fact that someone is breathing on his own, maybe even has his eyes open and reacts to stimuli, but you're still not able to reach him. Dr. Brennan hired me because of my experience with coma patients, but in most cases there's just no telling if the patient is aware of his surroundings, and that wasn't easy for her to accept."

 

Booth can imagine how difficult it was for Bones to deal with a situation where there were no clear answers, where even she had to fall back on hope and faith because science would only get her so far. "And you're sure that's all there is to it? I mean, it's slow, but I'm getting better now, am I not?"

 

"Yes, you are – but you know I'm not the one you should talk to if you're worried about Dr. Brennan, don't you? I'm sure she'll be back soon, so you should just ask her."

 

"Okay." Booth isn't happy with the answer, but he realizes she isn't going to tell him more.

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." She grabs her bag and pushes the button that lowers the head of Booth's bed. "Try to sleep for a while now, you must be pretty exhausted."

 

Booth obediently closes his eyes as soon as Genny has left; he's sure Bones will be back before long, and he doesn't want her to see him completely wiped out. He's out like a light in a matter of seconds.

 

+++

 

"Hey there, big guy."

 

Booth blinks groggily; he isn't quite sure whether he's awake or still dreaming, but the voice sounded familiar even if he can't immediately place it.

 

"Bones?"

 

"Sorry to disappoint; she got held up at the lab." When he's finally able to focus, he sees Cam sitting on a chair by his bed with a huge grin on her face. "Besides, I wanted to see you too."

 

He would have preferred Bones, but he tries not to show it. "Camille."

 

"Don't call me Camille." The playful tone doesn't fool him; he can see the tears that are welling up in her eyes as she takes his hand and squeezes it. "It's good to see you back among the living."

 

Booth belatedly notices that her hair is once again long enough to be tied up into the messy knot she favored back when he first met her, and for a second he feels an irrational stab of panic at the thought that he might have been out long enough for her to grow it back. Then he shakes his head and admonishes himself to stop being ridiculous.

 

"I'm not much of a sight these days, I'm afraid." He tries to sound flippant, but he can still feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment; Cam is a medical doctor, so she'll know perfectly well what all the stuff that's attached to him is for, and he isn't comfortable with that.

 

She rolls her eyes. "I'm a pathologist, Seeley, you look a hell of a lot better than most of my patients."

 

"Don't call me Seeley."

 

At that, her eyes finally spill over, and Booth finds himself wrapped up in a hug that is tight enough to make his stiff muscles scream in protest. He keeps quiet, though; he figures he owes her this.

 

"Damn you, Seeley." She sounds like she's suppressing a sob, which is very unlike the Cam he remembers and gives him an idea just how bad things must have been. "I swear I'll kill you myself if you ever pull another stunt like that, okay?"

 

"Okay." Booth does his best to sound normal, and to his relief, she seems calmer and a little embarrassed when she pulls back.

 

"You'd better mean it, G-man, because I bet she does."

 

Surprised, Booth turns his head in the direction the new voice came from; it's only now that he notices Hodgins on the other side of his bed. The bug man gives him a wink, and Booth appreciates the attempt to cover up Cam's momentary loss of control.

 

"You doing okay?" Hodgins keeps his tone light, and Booth gratefully plays along.

 

"Never better." He cranes his neck as much as he can to scan the rest of the room, but he doesn't see anyone else. "Is Angela on babysitting duty today?"

 

Damn, there's that carefully neutral look again that tells him he said something wrong, and it's a lot more disturbing to see it on Hodgins' face than on that of some random doctor. Booth turns to Cam in the hope of getting help there, but her poker face sucks even worse than Hodgins', because the mix of shock and bewilderment in her expression is completely obvious. He tries to come up with something to gloss over the awkward moment, but he has no idea which topics are safe, and he realizes he'll have to start watching what he says from now on if he doesn't want everyone to assume that he's brain-damaged.

 

After a few tense seconds, Cam starts talking about things at the lab, and Booth does his best to nod and make non-committal sounds in the appropriate places. He knows that Cam and Hodgins are here because they're worried about him, but he just wants to be left alone until he feels a little more like himself again.

 

They both seem to get it, because they beat a hasty retreat after just a few minutes, even though they both promise to be back soon. Booth keeps nodding and doesn't protest when Cam hugs him again, but he's relieved when they're finally out the door.

 

He wishes Bones would come back already; she said she wanted to leave the lab early, after all, so he doesn't understand what's taking her so long.

 

His already bad mood worsens further when the next person who walks in still isn't Bones, but a guy who's barely old enough to shave and introduces himself as a speech therapist. The kid immediately starts babbling about a ton of stuff he has planned for him, and Booth manages to listen for maybe thirty seconds before dismissing him outright. His throat barely hurts any more, and he has no trouble talking, so he definitely isn't going to do any of the weird exercises the guy insists he needs to do.

 

He tiredly closes his eyes when the kid has finally left in a huff that reminds Booth of Sweets at his most obnoxious, and he's about to drift off when the sound of soft footfalls brings him back.

 

"Hi." Bones gives him a tentative smile, and even though it makes him feel better, he's suddenly nervous. This is his chance to finally get some answers, but all of a sudden he isn't sure any longer if he's ready to hear them.

 

Bones doesn't give him time to say anything anyway. "I'm sorry I'm late, I had to finish a review that took me longer than expected, and then..." She hesitates and gives him a look that seems almost apologetic. "Booth, I realize it's not my place, but I had a long talk with Parker on the phone."

 

Not her place? Booth can't think of a reason why she would assume that he might not want her to speak with his son, but she keeps talking before he can ask her. "Rebecca told him that you woke up, and that he'll see you soon, but it seems he wasn't satisfied with that because he called me today without his mother's knowledge and asked me how you're doing and when he'll be allowed to visit."

 

"Not yet." There's no way he'll let Parker see him in his current condition, barely able to move and completely helpless; no matter how much he misses his boy, he won't force him to live with that image of his father in his mind. "I want him to wait until I'm better."

 

"I assumed as much." He's relieved that Bones doesn't try to force the issue, but she isn't done. "But would you consider calling him? I'm sure it would be much easier for him to wait a little longer if he could at least talk to you."

 

Booth hesitates; as much as he'd love to hear his son's voice, he hasn't forgotten the way Hodgins and Cam looked at him earlier, and he's terrified of saying something that will make Parker think he has gone crazy. "Okay, but could you maybe put him on speaker? So you... can help me out if I don't know what to say?"

 

He can't interpret the sidelong glance she gives him, but to his huge relief, she doesn't ask for an explanation; she just nods and pulls her cell phone out of her purse.

 

+++

 

"I love you too, buddy, and I'll see you soon. Be good for your mom in the meantime, do you hear me? Bye."

 

Booth watches as Bones ends the call and slowly puts her phone away as if she wanted to give him time to get a grip. Weighing every word throughout his talk with Parker has left him tense and exhausted, and he has no idea what to make of the mess of jumbled emotions that are the result of the conversation. Bones seems uncertain what to say, and Booth finds that he isn't faring much better.

 

At long last, he says the first thing that pops into his mind. "Do I really sound funny?"

 

She doesn't pretend not to know what he means; Parker, with a kid's brutal honesty, complained several times that it was difficult to understand him because he sounded 'funny'.

 

"Your speech is still slurred, yes – especially when you're tired." Kids have nothing on Bones when it comes to being brutally honest, but he appreciates that she's not tiptoeing around the issue. "Your enunciation is clear enough to understand what you're saying in direct conversation, but I imagine it's more difficult over the phone."

 

Booth sighs. "Maybe I need that speech therapy after all."

 

"You already started speech therapy? How did it go?" She sounds downright eager, and Booth finds himself wishing he had given the baby therapist a chance instead of throwing another tantrum, but of course he isn't going to admit that.

 

"It all sounded a little too weird for me..."

 

"Booth, it's an established form of treatment for exactly the kind of problems you're having. Mr. Yazbeck came highly recommended, and his credentials are quite impressive, so I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

 

Booth knows she's probably right, but he feels the need to voice at least a token protest. "Bones, the guy told me he wants me to sing!"

 

The corners of her mouth quirk up for a moment. "I'm sure you'll quickly convince him to reconsider that approach."

 

"Hey!" Booth does his best to appear affronted, but the truth is that the gentle dig is such a welcome moment of normalcy between them that he has to swallow a lump in his throat before he can continue. "I didn't hear you complain about my singing when we did Hot Blooded!"

 

He'll never forget how she joined him on that stage, carefree and unembarrassed and full of enthusiasm – it's a memory he treasures even though things were so difficult between them at the time. From the way her face falls, though, it seems that his remark brought back a very different kind of memory for her.

 

"No, but I almost got you killed."

 

It takes him a moment to realize that she's talking about the exploding fridge during the first year of their partnership. He hadn't even thought of that – it seems like it happened a lifetime ago.

 

A lifetime ago...

 

"Bones, I need to ask you something." His stomach clenches with sudden anxiety, but he can't avoid this talk any longer; he needs to know.

 

Her eyes go wide with something that could be surprise or panic, but then she visibly pulls herself together and nods.

 

Booth draws in a deep breath and puts his cards on the table. "All this – the hospital, the coma... it's real, isn't it?"

 

The I don't know what that means he expected never comes. Her face loses the last bit of color, but that's the only outward reaction she shows. "Yes, it's real. I realize that you're confused about a lot of things, but –"

 

"It's okay." It really isn't – nothing is okay, not by a long shot, but he can't think about that now; not when there's something so much more important.

 

"Then why won't you tell me anything about the baby?"

 

Deafening silence follows the question. Bones' eyes go impossibly wide for a second, but then she squeezes them shut, and her pinched expression makes her look as if she were bracing herself for a blow. Booth suddenly finds himself longing for the comforting numbness that used to creep up on him the last few times the topic came up, but his brain keeps functioning with merciless clarity. Why doesn't she answer? What is it she's keeping from him?

 

"Booth." Her eyes are swimming in tears when she finally opens them, but she manages to keep her voice steady. "I'm not pregnant – I couldn't possibly go through with the insemination after everything that happened. I promised you, remember?" When the only answer she gets is stunned silence, she presses on, "I know what you told me before the operation… but you didn't die, Booth, and I always knew that you would never give up, that you'd keep fighting, and… and I could do no less."

 

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, but he can't bring himself to move a finger. "Booth, I'm so sorry – I'll never forgive myself for upsetting you so much that it stayed on your mind even while you were in a coma, but there is no baby, and I swear that I'll never ask anything like that of you again."

 

He still keeps quiet; he doesn't know if his voice would obey him even if he had any idea what to say. It doesn't make sense, nothing makes sense – he knows what she's talking about, he remembers those agonizing days when she was hell-bent on having his baby without him, but that was ages ago, and they left all that behind them when…

 

I'm pregnant; you're the father. He can still hear those words as if it had only been yesterday that she spoke them, but he finds that he has trouble pinpointing when he heard them – his rational mind tells him it can't have happened before the coma, but the memory is real, there's just no way it's something his brain cooked up. It can't, it must not –

 

"Booth?" Her voice is finally thick with the tears he can see in her eyes. "Please say something, you're frightening me."

 

"I don't… it doesn't make sense." Her grip on his hand tightens, and Booth holds on to it, suddenly grateful for the physical reminder that she, at least, is really here with him and not a figment of his imagination. "We were going to have a baby – you were nine months along…"

 

"That never happened." She sounds gentler than he has ever heard her. "You said that you couldn't be a father without being involved in the child's life, and I respected your decision. It's okay, Booth – all that matters is that you're going to be fine."

 

"It doesn't make sense." He hates how bewildered he sounds, but there's nothing he can do about it – the ever-present exhaustion is beginning to catch up with him, and he just wants the world to go back to normal, but he feels like he's underwater and can't figure out which way it is to the surface.

 

"I know, but it will get better, I promise."

 

The Bones he remembers would never make a promise she can't keep, but how can things possibly get better? If it's true what she's saying, if there really is no baby… Booth shakes his head to clear it; the idea is ridiculous, and he doesn't know what even made him consider the possibility that it might be true.

 

"I'm tired, Bones." It feels like taking the easy way out, but his thoughts are beginning to drift away in all directions, and it gets harder and harder to concentrate on a here and now that seems hardly worth hanging on to it. "I… I guess I need to sleep for a while."

 

"Of course. I'll see you –"

 

"Can you stay?" The hasty question is automatic; it feels utterly important to keep holding on to her hand for as long as he can, and right now he doesn't care how needy it looks to her. "Until I'm asleep?"

 

Her fingers tighten further around his, but she manages to give him a watery smile. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

He can't remember how long he has been sitting on the hard stone steps, the empty baby carrier by his side, his eyes still fixed on the spot where her car disappeared from sight. He isn't sure how he got here – his mind is a kaleidoscope of blurry images and half-formed memories, and he has no idea what's happening to him. All he knows is that he life he knew was ripped away from him, that all the happiness in his world has suddenly vanished without a trace, and he doesn't know what to do about it or even what it really was that he lost.

 

He remains perfectly still and waits for something to happen, something that will give him the energy to get up and start working on getting back what was taken from him, but nothing does. The nurse comes in for the usual morning stuff, but Booth doesn't even acknowledge her; he stays motionless and keeps his eyes on the empty road until they fall shut on their own accord, but the image remains with him even after that.

 

When he opens his eyes again, it's to the painfully familiar sight of his hospital room, and the bright sun outside the window tells him it must be late morning already. His mind is still fuzzy with the remnants of the dream – was it a dream? – that left him with a gut-wrenching feeling of loss and no memory of what actually happened.

 

"Good morning."

 

The unexpected voice cuts through the haze in his brain and forces him to focus on the present. Booth slowly turns his head and sees Dr. Sweets sitting in the chair by his bedside. The young psychologist has a bright smile plastered onto his face that reminds Booth of the expression he used to wear during therapy, but in spite of that he seems tense and ill at ease.

 

"It's good to see you again, Agent Booth."

 

"What are you doing here?" Booth didn't mean to sound so harsh, but Sweets it the last person he needs right now; he wants someone who'll give him straightforward answers, and he knows better than to expect that from a shrink.

 

Sweets flinches, but manages to keep his smile in place. "I apologize for intruding, but your neurologist told me that a short visit was okay, and I wanted a chance to talk to you before Dr. Brennan comes back and throws me out."

 

Booth frowns, but Sweets keeps talking. "Don't worry, I'm not here in a professional capacity – Dr. Bryar informed me that you'd rather not have me as your therapist, and I assure you that I understand. I just – I felt you deserved an explanation."

 

Booth perks up at that; maybe the kid will turn out to be helpful after all, but he still can't get a word in because Sweets asks, "How are you doing? It must –"

 

"I'm fine." Booth tries for the most dismissive tone he can muster; admitting to any kind of weakness around Sweets is like slitting your wrist in a piranha tank. "A little hazy about some things, but the doctors tell me it'll pass."

 

There is no baby, and I swear that I'll never ask anything like that of you again…

 

Booth digs his nails into his palms and shoves the memory aside. He can see that Sweets is dying to pester him about details, but thankfully the kid doesn't try to push his luck.

 

"I'm glad." For the first time, Sweets' smile looks genuine. "For a while, we thought we might not get you back. Except Dr. Brennan, of course."

 

Booth has to grin at that, even though he feels uneasy whenever anyone mentions just how close he seems to have come to not making it. He's sure that Bones would give him all the details if he asked her, but so far he has been reluctant to bring it up.

 

"I guess Bones knows me better than the rest of you."

 

"I've come to realize that." Sweets pauses for a moment, and when he continues, he isn't smiling any more. "I just – I can imagine what you must think of me now, but I'd like to at least explain my side of things, and I swear that I've never been happier about being proven wrong. I… I shudder to think what would have happened if Dr. Brennan had listened to me."

 

Booth frowns again; he's used to Sweets not making much sense, but that last statement still sounded strange. He can think of several occasions when letting Sweets push his buttons has gotten him into all kinds of trouble – You're the gambler… I don't want to be your age and wind up like you… – but when has Temperance 'Psychology is a soft science' Brennan ever given a damn about anything Sweets had to say?

 

"Sweets, I have no clue what you're talking about."

 

Sweets seems completely taken aback. "But – I thought that Dr. Brennan told you, and… and that – I mean, I figured it was the reason you didn't want me as your therapist…"

 

Under different circumstances, it might be funny to watch Sweets floundering, but right now it just makes Booth impatient. "Okay, what the hell is going on?" Belatedly, a significant detail that Sweets let slip registers with him. "What did you do to Bones that you think she told me?"

 

The kid looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but he pulls himself together under Booth's glare. "I… I tried to convince her to let the doctors take you off life support."

 

Booth stares at him. "You what?"

 

"Booth, let me explain!" Sweets sounds almost desperate now. "You were no longer able to breathe on your own after those horrible seizures, and since Dr. Brennan is your medical proxy, the doctors had to inform her that a decision about whether to keep you on life support might become necessary because all the signs pointed towards massive brain damage. They… they told her it was likely you would never wake up again."

 

Christ. Booth feels like his insides are turning to ice at the thought of what she must have gone through.

 

"I need you to understand." Sweets sounds downright pleading. "I've come to know you quite well, and I was absolutely certain that you wouldn't want to keep living like that – hooked up to machines in the ICU, with your consciousness, your personality, everything that made you you gone forever. I… I tried to make Dr. Brennan understand that you'd prefer death to such an existence."

 

"You told her to let me die." The idea unnerves him even though Sweets has a point, because the thought of spending the rest of this life as a vegetable makes Booth shudder.

 

Sweets nods miserably. "Angela and I both tried to convince her that letting you go peacefully was the right thing to do. She took it very badly – she swore that she'd never even consider it unless the world's five leading neurologists independently declared you brain dead, that… that she has never known you to give up, and that you'd want to keep fighting for as long as you could."

 

I knew you wouldn't give up. Booth tries in vain to remember when she told him that (or did he tell her?) – he can't recall the occasion, but the words themselves are crystal clear in his memory. "No offense, Sweets, but I'm kinda glad right now that Bones never listens to you."

 

Sweets relaxes a little at the light tone and even manages a rueful chuckle. "To be honest, Agent Booth, right now I am too. The doctors eventually found out that you had some kind of infection, and you started getting better when they treated that, but Dr. Brennan has refused to talk to me ever since. Cam tells me she hasn't even fully mended fences with Angela, and given how close she and Angela used to be…"

 

Booth takes a deep breath and tries to wrap his mind around the concept of Bones fighting to keep him alive all by herself, without even the help of her best friend. Damn, damn, damn…

 

"I get that she's angry, but I hope she'll believe me one day that I was genuinely trying to help." The pleading tone is back, but Booth doesn't particularly care about Sweets' guilty conscience right now; all he can think of is Bones and the hell he put her through. If he'd only been honest with her about his symptoms instead of trying to hide them…

 

"I'm not sure if the doctors told you about it, but she fought tooth and nail to get you the best possible treatment, and she's been with you every step of the way. I know you two keep saying that you're just partners, but..."

 

Booth doesn't hear the rest of Sweets' nattering. The ground is dropping away from under him, and then the room begins to spin, faster and faster until there's nothing but blurred colors and a cacophony of weirdly distorted sounds that hurt his ears and make him dizzy. He tries to find something firm to anchor himself, but there's nothing to hold on to, he's once more underwater with no idea which direction will lead him back to the surface.

 

"Sir? You're not supposed to be here."

 

The clipped voice cuts through the din, and just like that, the world rights itself. Genny Shaw is standing next to Sweets and glaring at him in a way that appears weirdly out of character, and Booth blinks a few times and tries to figure out what just happened.

 

"Visiting hours aren't until three o'clock, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

 

Sweets scrambles to his feet like a scolded schoolboy and mumbles something before beating a hasty retreat, but Booth doesn't hear it. He can feel the familiar darkness lurking at the fringes of his consciousness, and more than ever he's tempted to give in to it. Nothing makes sense, and he just wants to go home…

 

"You okay, Seeley? You look a little green around the gills today." Now that they're alone, Genny is back to her usual cheerful self, but it barely registers with him. Something to anchor himself…

 

"Genny, do you know when Bones – when Dr. Brennan will be back?"

 

"Around noon like usual, I guess." She sounds utterly unconcerned, and Booth tries to draw some comfort from that, and from the impish smile she gives him as she winks at him. "It looks like she can't get enough of you."

 

You two keep saying that you're just partners…

 

Booth clenches his teeth and knows the darkness won't stop beckoning him until he feels her hand in his again.

 

+++

 

Booth nods off right after lunch – the nurse finally let him try to eat on his own, and even though he managed not to spill too much of the tasteless goo she'd brought him, the whole thing left him irritated and exhausted. His dreams are disjointed and nonsensical, but there's an underlying feeling of dread that doesn't let him sleep peacefully.

 

"Booth? There's someone here to see you." Bones' gentle voice cuts through the chaos in his mind, and he gratefully follows as it guides him back into wakefulness. Even the bleak surroundings of his hospital room feel friendlier than the inside of his brain right now.

 

The warm hand covering his isn't hers, though; its skin feels wrinkled and paper-thin, and when Booth finally manages to open his eyes, he's looking into the beaming face of his grandfather.

 

"Shrimp!" Pops looks worn and old – much more so than Booth remembers, and his easy smile doesn't quite match the way he clutches his grandson's hand. "You really want to give me that heart attack, don't you?"

 

It takes Booth a moment to come up with a coherent reply. "Pops, what – what are you doing here?"

 

The old man scoffs. "What, you expected me to stay in Philly and twiddle my thumbs while you're making your way back to the land of the living? I would have come sooner, but Jared couldn't get away from work until today, and he wouldn't let me drive on my own. As if I couldn't drive any longer just because…"

 

Pops rambles on, but Booth isn't listening any more; he has spotted Jared lurking in the corner behind Pops' back. His brother shoots him a grin as soon as he notices Booth noticing him, but he, too, looks tired. "Hi there, big brother."

 

"Hey." Booth does his best to grin back. To his disappointment, Jared is the only other person in the room besides him and Pops; Bones is nowhere to be seen. She must have slipped out right after waking him up, and for a moment he wonders if she's avoiding him.

 

He fumbles for the control button that adjusts the head of his bed and raises it as far as it will go. It's hugely uncomfortable and makes him feel like he's going to fall forward any second, but it's still better than having to talk to Jared while he's flat on his back like a baby in its crib.

 

"How are you, Seeley?" Pops' question, sounding very different than his earlier tirade, forces Booth to focus on his grandfather again.

 

"I've been better, but… I manage." There's no point in giving Pops more reason to worry about him. "They tell me it might take a while, but I'm going to be fine, Pops."

 

"Thank God." The room is silent for a moment after the old man's heartfelt sigh, and Booth desperately tries to think of some way to change the topic because he really doesn't want to discuss his health issues in front of his brother. There was something Pops said earlier…

 

"What were you doing in Philly? Did you get kicked out of the retirement community again?"

 

"Retirement community? Ha!" Pops points over his shoulder at Jared. "What is this, a conspiracy? First your brother seems to believe that I've gone senile and won't be able to live on my own once he moves out, and now you too?"

 

"Pops, Seeley really doesn't need to hear about that right now." For once, Booth is grateful for Jared's habit of interrupting other people's conversations, because Pops' rant left him more than a little confused. Since when is Jared staying with their grandfather? Pops sold the old house in Philly after his bypass operation –

 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be good," Pops grumbles as he struggles to get up from the plastic chair by Booth's bedside. "I have to take a leak anyway. Don't go anywhere, Shrimp, I'll be right back!" He squeezes Booth's hand again, then lets go and shuffles out of the room.

 

The silence that settles between the brothers as soon as they're alone isn't exactly uncomfortable, but it feels awkward nevertheless. At long last, Booth decides to play it safe.

 

"How's Padme?"

 

Jared frowns, and Booth considers a second too late that he might be staying with Pops because Padme kicked him out. It would be just like his brother to mess up the first good thing that happened to him since –

 

"We're not talking about the Star Wars chick, are we? Because that's the only Padme I know." Before Booth can reply, Jared adds with a grin, "Tempe said you had some weird dreams during your coma. Don't tell me you actually dreamed up a girlfriend for me?"

 

Booth stares at him; there it is again, that suffocating sensation of being underwater with no idea which way is up, and on top of it there's the burning sting of embarrassment. His brother was probably the last person he wanted to know about his struggles with reality, and for a moment he wants to resent Bones for blabbing them out to Jared of all people.

 

Then he thinks of how Jared might have reacted if she hadn't warned him.

 

For what is probably the first time in their lives, Jared doesn't jump at the chance to humiliate his big brother. He keeps his tone light and asks, still grinning, "Knowing you, you probably fixed me up with a female sumo wrestler with hair growing out of her nostrils, huh?"

 

Booth is more than glad to play along. He still feels deeply unsettled by the whole thing, but he knows he can't let it get to him right now. "Nah, she was pretty hot. Would have to be, what with being an escort."

 

Jared makes a face, but then he smirks. "I'll take that over the sumo wrestler any day."

 

At last, Booth can bring himself to smirk back. "You would."

 

The moment of glorious normalcy doesn't last long, though; as much as he'd love to avoid it, there are some things he needs to ask Jared in order to sort out his confusing memories. "Jared, why are you staying with Pops? I thought you…" He doesn't finish, afraid he'll get something wrong again, but Jared doesn't seem to mind.

 

"Mostly thanks to you, big bro – I was only three weeks into my vacation in India when Pops let me know you were in the hospital. He –"

 

"You did go to India?" The relief that some of Booth's memories finally turn out to be true is almost overwhelming for a second.

 

Jared eyes him curiously. "You don't remember that?"

 

"Yeah, sure I do." Booth does his best to sound sure of himself. "So you came back?"

 

"What, you expected me to let Pops fret all by his lonesome?" Booth is only too familiar with that surly tone, and he seriously didn't expect he'd ever be glad to hear it. "You know he keeps having heart trouble and won't admit it – if you hadn't gotten him drunk last Christmas, we still wouldn't know that his doctor thinks he'll need a bypass sooner or later, remember?"

 

Booth just nods; he doesn't add that he also remembers Pops getting the bypass surgery and moving into a nursing home afterwards.

 

"Okay, so I came back and moved in with him for the time being to keep an eye on him. Got a job in Philly too – it's shitty pay and even shittier hours, but for the moment it pays the bills."

 

Booth can't help thinking that Jared's reasons for staying at Pops' house instead of finding his own place might not have been quite so selfless, but still, it's more than he would ever have expected of Jared. Then again, Jared did sacrifice his career to save his brother's life…

 

That did happen, didn't it?

 

Booth feels like the insides of his brain are turning to jelly as he tries to figure out if what he remembers can possibly be real; if he was really caught on that ship with the ghost of a dead army buddy; if the Gravedigger who almost took Bones from him really turned out to be a tiny, harmless-looking woman. Heather Taffet – he remembers her dying, remembers her head exploding like an overripe melon right in front of him, but that too seems almost too weird to be true. It must have happened, though – because Jake killed Taffet, and Jake also killed Vincent, and then he and Bones…

 

You two keep saying that you're just partners. Wasn't that what Sweets said just this morning? Or did he imagine that too?

 

Booth shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear it. He just wants answers, wants someone to tell him what's real and what isn't, and right now he doesn't even care if that someone is his brother.

 

"Jared –"

 

His brother just looks at him expectantly, and Booth freezes; of the dozens of questions he wanted to ask just a second ago, he suddenly can't seem to remember a single one. There's one thing though, something that has been nagging at the back of his brain since he first saw Pops by his bedside, and this is actually something he can ask Jared without giving away too much of what's going on with him.

 

"Jared, is Dad still alive?"

 

It's obvious that this is the last question Jared expected him to ask, but it takes him only a moment to overcome his surprise, and he shrugs with an indifference that seems just a tad forced. "How the hell should I know, Seeley? I don't give a damn one way or the other."

 

"Right." Booth shakes his head again as if that could get rid of the memory of sitting in his recliner with Bones perching on the armrest, a wooden box on the coffee table in front of him and her arm around his shoulders, pregnant belly pressed against his side…

 

There is no baby, and I swear that I'll never ask anything like that of you again.

 

"Miss me, Shrimp? Look who I found in the hallway!" Pops is back with Bones in tow, but Booth has trouble focusing on either of them; the world is getting blurry around the edges again, and everyone's voices are muffled and distant as if he were underwater. Bones is saying something about overwhelming him –

 

"You look wiped out, my boy; I guess the lady is right, we should let you rest." Booth can't remember many moments in his life when he has heard Pops sound so gentle, and they were never happy moments. At least things are getting clearer again, and Pops' voice no longer sounds like it's coming from far away when he turns to Bones and gives her a quick hug that obviously takes her by surprise.

 

"It was good to finally meet you in person, Dr. Brennan. You'll keep me updated, won't you?"

 

"Of course I will." Bones takes a hasty step back as soon as Pops lets go, but the smile she gives the old man is genuine. "It was good to meet you too, Mr. Booth."

 

Booth watches the exchange with growing unease; he could have sworn that these two have known each other for a long time, that Pops took a shine to her the first time he saw her and even entrusted a secret to her safekeeping –

 

But… if Pops told Bones something he wanted her to keep secret, why is he remembering it?

 

Then Pops is hugging him good-bye, and suddenly it's too much.

 

Booth isn't sure how he mustered up the strength, but as soon as Pops' arms are around him, he finds himself clinging to the old man with all his might. All he wants right now is to be twelve years old again so his grandfather's arms will still be those of a man strong enough to take on the whole world and make all the bad things go away. He's so tired of fighting on his own, and he just wants someone to tell him that everything's going to be okay, that this is only a bad dream that will be over as soon as he finally wakes up.

 

"It's okay, Booth, I've got you."

 

The soothing voice isn't Pops'; it's Bones who's speaking, and then her arm is around Booth's shoulders, gently easing him back into the pillow. "Here, let me lower the backrest a little, this position can't be comfortable for you."

 

It's only now that Booth realizes he's completely out of breath, and that the beeps of the heart monitor are picking up speed. He wants to focus on calming down, but it's too much, everything's just too much…

 

"It's going to be all right."

 

How can she even say that with a straight face? Booth is torn between laughing at the cruel irony and screaming at her for making empty promises, but he doesn't have the energy for either. All he can do is try to get a grip; it takes a while, but at last the obnoxious beeping slows down. His surroundings begin to register on him again – Pops and Jared have left, and Bones is sitting in the chair by his bedside. She's smiling at him, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes, and suddenly the need to make her understand becomes overwhelming.

 

"Everything's wrong, Bones, and I – I feel like I'm going crazy."

 

"You're not." She sounds completely certain, but that's because she doesn't have all the facts. "A certain level of confusion is completely normal after a prolonged –"

 

"No." The vehemence of the interruption silences her, and Booth presses on before she has a chance to recover. "You don't get it, Bones – things are supposed to be different, everything's supposed to be different, but it's like I'm the only one who remembers…"

 

"Remembers what?" The clinical tone falters a little when she asks, "Is this about the fact that you thought I had gone through with the insemination?"

 

"You didn't… it wasn't like that." Booth lowers his eyes; there's no way he can look at her right now. "I – I remember us, Bones. You and me – we were going to have a baby, and…"

 

Her sharp intake of breath makes him look up again; she has gone very pale, and her expression is one of dawning comprehension and – horror?

 

"Booth." She sounds like she's choking on something. "You thought – you think that we are… together?"

 

Booth feels his mind go blank; he can only stare at her, completely dumbfounded, while the plea No, no, dear God, please no starts running on a loop in his brain. It's not a prayer, it's not even a conscious thought, just an utter refusal to accept that anything so totally wrong could ever be true.

 

You two keep saying that you're just partners.

 

Bones' eyes flit to the heart monitor for a second, and she's obviously struggling for composure when she says in a strangely flat voice, "So that is why you kissed me yesterday." When he doesn't reply, doesn't even react, she whispers as if she were talking to herself, "This is all my fault."

 

Then she visibly pulls herself together; she reaches for his hand and holds it so tightly that it's painful, but her tone is once more detached and clinical. "Booth, you and I are partners. We have been working together for four years – or maybe five, if you count –"

 

"The Gemma Arrington case." The reply is automatic, and it brings a tiny smile to her face.

 

"That's true. Our first case, back in August 2004."

 

Five years ago.

 

Booth shakes his head; it just can't be true, and he's waiting for the familiar darkness to start seeping into his mind any second now, but instead the fog in his brain is lifting, forcing him to assess his situation with merciless clarity.

 

"We almost slept together back then."

 

"Yes, and we later agreed that we were never going to overstep that line. We're partners, Booth, deep down you know that – and in time, it will come back to you." Why is her voice trembling if she's so sure about it?

 

"But I remember…" He pauses for a second and tries to get his whirling thoughts in order; this is Bones, so every argument he makes needs to be flawless. "I remember us together, Bones – that first night at my place, and then… when you told me you were pregnant, the night after Angela and Hodgins had their baby –"

 

Now she's giving him that look, the one he keeps seeing on the faces of pretty much everyone he talks to. "Booth, Angela and Hodgins don't have a child – they're not even a couple any more. They broke up almost a year ago, don't you remember that?"

 

When Booth doesn't answer, she keeps talking. "I can't even imagine how difficult and confusing this situation must be for you – but you are getting better, and things will get easier as you recover. I spoke to Dr. Bryar just before, and she's still very optimistic about your prognosis. I can ask her if –"

 

"No." Booth cringes with embarrassment as he suddenly remembers all those questions he heard Bones ask his doctors over the last days – he didn't think anything of it because those things aren't an issue with the person who sees you naked every day, but if it's true what she's saying, if she hasn't actually ever… except maybe that one time when she broke into his bathroom after he got shot –

 

Did that actually happen? He remembers the moment with perfect clarity, but he keeps finding out how little that counts for. Almost without thought, Booth slides his hand under the neck of his hospital gown; there it is, the familiar feeling of puckered scar tissue under his fingertips, and it reminds him how Cam once told him, back in his rookie days, that a person's body is a much more reliable witness than their mind.

 

Bones watches him closely; it must be obvious what he's doing, but she seems to misunderstand his reaction.

 

"Is your scar troubling you?"

 

"No, I…" Booth flounders for a moment. "I remember how I got it."

 

Is he imagining things, or is she suddenly fighting tears? "You almost died for me."

 

"I know." _Because I love you._

 

He doesn't say it, of course. After what she just told him, she won't want to hear it, but that doesn't make it any less true, and among all the confusion and the uncertainty, Booth finds a little comfort in the fact that there's something he can rely on no matter what.

 

He also knows that it's probably the only thing he'll be able to rely on from now on, and he has no idea how he's supposed to deal with that.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

When there's nothing you can do about the big picture, focus on the task at hand.

Booth sometimes feels like the old cop mantra is the only thing that's keeping him sane during the days that follow. It's as if the world he knew has fallen apart, and now he has to watch it putting itself back together into a shape that looks like one of those Escher pictures –completely wrong and bizarrely real at the same time, and always changing before your eyes when you look too closely.

 

He tries not to think about it. It's a technique he has perfected during his years in the Army, when too much thinking would only distract him, and distraction was something he couldn't afford. It's a part of his life he thought he left behind for good, but right now that's the least of his worries.

 

There's only one thing he can do right now, and that's putting every shred of energy he has into getting better as quickly as possible. He hates being helpless, and it has been a long time since things were as bad as they are now, with him barely able to sit upright, let alone get out of that damned hospital bed. Genny keeps admonishing him to be patient, but he'll have none of it; he pushes himself harder whenever he feels like collapsing, and even though progress is agonizingly slow and his hard-won victories are so tiny that he once would have considered them pathetic, they quickly become his sole focus during his waking hours. He puts up with everything the doctors throw at him; he even goes along with the crazy ideas of his speech therapist, and with all that neurological stuff that makes him feel like he's been sent back to kindergarten. Constant humiliation is something he has learned to deal with a long time ago, and it's a price he's willing to pay if it will help him become himself again.

 

Exhaustion becomes his ever-present companion, but it's more than just an unavoidable side effect of the grueling daily routine – it's a buffer between his consciousness and the full impact of this harsh new reality. There's no lying awake at night once another day is over, no empty, sleepless hours that would force him to think about things that are too much to bear.

Sometimes, there's a moment when he's not on his guard and something slips through the cracks of the walls he has put up around his mind, but thankfully it never lasts long; in the end, he can always count on the warm, welcoming darkness to take it all away as soon as he closes his eyes and allows his tired body to relax. Then, finally, there's no need for defenses or pretenses any more – another battle is behind him, and even though the new day will bring the next one, he won't have to think about it until morning.

 

Every evening, Booth says a quick prayer of thanks when the nurse on duty switches off the lights and bids him good night; then he closes his eyes and goes home.

 

It's no longer the effortless switch it was in the beginning – he can't just let his mind wander while he falls asleep, because that will inevitably leave him caught up in dreams filled with loss and fear and the crushing feeling of loneliness. The life he left behind is no longer a linear chain of events that picks up where he left it when he finally makes it back; now it's a swirling kaleidoscope of brightly colored images and happy memories, and like a child chasing a swarm of butterflies he reaches out blindly and picks whatever is within his reach. It doesn't matter what he ends up with – all the memories of _them_ , and of the life they were leading together, are equally welcome to him, and even though a part of his mind keeps telling him that none of it is real, Booth doesn't care as long as he can go back to where he belongs.

 

Sometimes, when it all gets too much during the day, he even allows himself a second to ponder which memory he's going to choose that night, which moment he'll get to relive with them as soon as he puts another day's tasks behind him. It's addictive in a way that even gambling never was, but he doesn't care about that either; all that matters is that at the end of the day, he'll be home again.

 

Coming back is another matter entirely.

 

He has begun to dread waking up each morning – it always begins with a perfect moment cut short, with the sudden sensation of everything he loves slipping through his fingers and leaving him grasping at empty air. That's when, most days, confusion settles in; he hardly ever knows where he is or what happened when he opens his eyes, and when the realization finally hits him at the sight of his hospital room, he always feels like he can't breathe for a second. Some days, he can barely bring himself to keep his eyes open; during those first moments of the day, the temptation to slip back into the darkness and refuse to ever come out again is almost too much to bear, and the only thing that makes him fight the impulse is the fact that most days, Bones is sitting by his bedside when he wakes up.

 

She is the one thing that makes him hold on to the cruel reality of the day, no matter how wrong and off-key it feels. He doesn't know much about anything else, but he knows _her_ , knows beyond a doubt that she's really by his side, almost out of her mind with worry and still determined to get him through this ordeal no matter how difficult it will be. He can't leave her behind, can't let her fight for him in vain, and for her sake he hangs on and faces the fight each new day brings.

 

And yet – ever since he told her a small part of the truth, allowed her a tiny glimpse into the life he shared with her, things have been different between them. She seems hesitant, almost awkward at times; Booth, too, doesn't really know how to behave around her for fear he'll once more do something she'll consider wrong or out of character, like that ill-fated kiss that obviously still troubles her. At the same time, it's almost unbearable to be near her and _not_ touch her, to censor everything he says, every gesture towards her because he suddenly needs to hide how he feels about her.

 

The first day after he told her, Bones didn't come in until noon, and Booth spent a hellish morning filled with fear that he'd made her run again, that his revelation had unsettled her so badly that she couldn't be near him any more. Yet she was sitting by his bedside when he woke up from a brief, fitful nap after lunch, and he was so relieved that he automatically reached for her like he'd done every day before. Bones, too, made a move as if to take his hand like she always did when she sat next to him, but halfway through she froze, and then hastily tried to cover it up by running her fingers through her hair.

 

Booth felt a crushing weight settle on his chest. He could only stare at her as she looked back at him, wide-eyed and pale-faced as if she, too, had no idea how they were supposed to deal with this. He cursed himself for having been stupid enough to tell her, for doing the one thing he should have known would drive her away. It had been so easy to forget how things used to be between them, and he knew there was no telling how much damage he'd done, if there would ever be a way for him to –

 

That was the moment he saw her stricken expression change into the steely determination he'd come to know so well, and then she slowly, deliberately, reached out and covered his hand with hers.

 

Booth can still feel the cool touch of her skin on his whenever he thinks back to that moment. He doesn't know what it's costing her, but she keeps coming back every day, and no matter how awkward things get, she has never given him any indication that she might consider pulling back. He's learning to keep a tight rein on his tongue and on his heart because he doesn't want to make things even more difficult for her – but sometimes, when he's tired and sore and lets his guard slip for a moment, he looks into her eyes and sees the woman he loves, the woman who has become the center of his life, gazing back at him. Those are the moments when all his defenses crumble, when the stark reality of what he has lost – or maybe has never had – is staring him in the face and leaves him no way to keep his eyes shut. He wants to reach out, to hold her tight and assure himself and her that they're still _them_ , that he's right here and will never stop loving her, and it takes every last ounce of strength to keep his mouth shut and try to push everything he feels for her back into the darkest corner of his mind.

 

During the days when that happens, he throws himself into his therapies and exercises with redoubled fervor, pushing himself way beyond his limits to keep his mind mercifully numb as physical exhaustion takes over. If she knows what he's doing, she never lets on; she keeps monitoring his progress, celebrates every small victory with him, and pesters doctors and therapists with the unrelenting, unapologetic energy that is so _her_ it makes his heart ache. The day he manages to stand on his own feet (never mind that it's only for a few seconds, and that it takes Genny and a nurse to hold him upright) for the first time, she brings him a slice of apple pie from the Royal Diner, and Booth wants to needle her about trying a bite so they can have their old discussion about cooked fruit, but he doesn't dare to because he's afraid she might remember what Sweets once said about pie and seduction. So he just thanks her and basks in her beaming smile when he manages to finish the whole slice (he can eat on his own without a problem by now, but he doesn't have much of an appetite these days), but he doesn't let himself dwell on the way she makes him feel when she's smiling at him like that.

 

He knows he'll come home to Bones baking pie in their kitchen tonight, and it will have to be enough to get him through the rest of the day.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

"You sure you can't stay?"

 

Booth is aware how needy that question sounds, but he can't help it; he's been nervous all day, but now that it's almost time, the knot in his stomach is beginning to make him feel sick.

 

"Booth, I told you –"

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She has given him a list of reasons – it still tires him out when he has to focus on too many people at once, Rebecca might not want to have her around, and most importantly, she doesn't want to intrude on his time with his son. He hates the last one most of all, because he still refuses to accept that there could be a part of his life in which she has no place, but he knows there's no persuading Bones once she has made up her mind.

 

Booth glances at the clock again; it's ten minutes to three. Parker is going to be here any moment, and he still doesn't know how he feels about it.

 

On the one hand, he can't wait – it seems like it's been forever since he has last seen his son, and phone calls just aren't enough when it's your child you're separated from. On the other hand, he's terrified of upsetting or frightening Parker; he has never called him without Bones supervising the conversation so he wouldn't get anything wrong, and he's well aware that Parker is probably wondering why it took his father weeks until he was ready to see him.

 

He's still not sure if he's ready now, but at least he isn't quite the wreck of a man any more he was when he first woke up from the coma. Booth casts a quick look around the hospital room and is mostly satisfied with what he sees – the most embarrassing pieces of medical equipment, from the catheter bag to the heart monitor, are gone; he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of a hospital gown, and the central IV line in his shoulder is safely hidden under his clothes. He can't do anything about the fact that his arms and legs are still much too thin because of the atrophied muscles, but at least they're mostly obeying him again even if he still feels weaker than a week-old kitten. He can only hope it will be enough not to shock Parker completely, but he's terrified of the thought that he will have to talk to Parker without Bones. What if he slips up and makes Parker think he has gone crazy? The boy has been through enough, and the thought that he might make things worse causes the nervous knot in his stomach to tighten further.

 

"Almost time."

 

"Yes." She places her hand on his arm and gives him a careful smile. "It's going to be fine, Booth."

 

"Right." Booth takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together. "Can you help me get up?"

 

She hesitates for a split second, but then she nods, and Booth is relieved that she doesn't make him explain why he doesn't want Parker to see him lying in a hospital bed if he can help it. Usually Genny or one of the nurses help him get out of bed, but Bones has done it often enough by now to support him expertly when he carefully puts his feet on the floor and pushes himself upright. He still can't walk more than a few steps at a time, but the chair next to the bed is within reach, and Booth tries not to lean on her too heavily as she helps him sit down. He knows he should be grateful that he's gotten this far already, but it's moments like this one that make it painfully obvious that the longer part of the journey is still ahead of him.

 

Bones eyes him critically. "Why are you so nervous? I thought it would make you happy to see Parker."

 

"It does, Bones, it's just – I mean, I have no idea how he's dealing, and how I'm supposed to behave around him. This is the longest I've been away from him since Afghanistan, and I just don't know…" He falters when he sees the change in her expression. "What?"

 

"When did you go to Afghanistan? I thought your last deployment was before Parker was born."

 

Booth stares at her; there it is again, the feeling of the ground underneath his feet turning to quicksand until he has no idea where it's safe to stand. "I don't know, it – it can't have been that long ago, when you went away to Maluku and…"

 

Bones' face turns ashen. "You remember Maluku?"

 

He doesn't answer; what is there for him to say? Bones rallies quickly, though; she squats down so she's no longer looming over him and takes his hands in hers. "Booth, I was asked to head an international research project in Maluku a few weeks after you got sick. I turned down the offer, but I helped with the project coordination, and I sometimes talked about it when I visited you at the hospital. I – I had no way of knowing that you actually heard me."

 

Booth shakes his head. It makes no sense, he _remembers_ Afghanistan – the heat, the dusty brown landscape; the two guys they lost during the first week, Corporal Jenkins who got shot through the heart four days before the end of his tour.. no, wait, that had been in Iraq, hadn't it? He tries to focus, but the blurry images bleed into each other until he can't tell them apart any longer.

 

Stop it, this isn't getting you anywhere.

 

Booth takes a deep breath and tries to think of something else. Bones is still staring at him, eyes wide with worry and uncertainty; he has come to hate that look on her face.

 

"You talked to me?" It's the first thing to say that comes to his mind, and her relieved expression tells him it was a smart choice.

 

"As much as I could; Miss Shaw told me there was a chance you would recognize me, or that you would at least be aware that you hadn't been left alone." There's a small hitch in her voice, but it's gone when she continues. "I made sure that the nurse on duty talked to you as well. Nurse Burley covered most of the day shifts, and she usually told you about whatever she'd heard on the news that day – I'm sure the war in Afghanistan came up in those conversations, so maybe that's what made you think you'd been there?"

 

He shakes his head again; some of the memories are getting clearer now, and they feel _real_ – he remembers a rescue operation, an Afghani woman clutching her child to her, and then a phone call from Caroline that told him he had to come home.

 

Except you _can't_ just go home halfway through your tour of duty, can you? But why is he only realizing that now?

 

He's still reeling from that thought when the door opens.

 

For a split second, everyone freezes. Rebecca, still in the door, has her arm around Parker's shoulders; Parker is standing stock-still and stares at his father with an expression that looks strangely out of place on a child's face. He seems smaller and so much younger than the boy in Booth's memory – still a true child instead of the almost-adolescent he remembers, and Booth can only stare back at him, his mind completely blank and a dull ache spreading in his chest.

 

Then Parker yells "Dad!" and wriggles out of Rebecca's grasp when she tries to hold him back; a second later his arms are around Booth's neck.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth sees Bones leave the room with a polite nod to Rebecca; Rebecca is smiling, and Parker is making incoherent noises into Booth's shoulder and hangs on so tightly that Booth's back is screaming in protest. He doesn't care, though; all that matters is the boy in his arms, who now gives him a beaming smile and starts bombarding him with rapid-fire questions that barely leave Booth time to catch his breath.

 

Booth nods and smiles and keeps his answers as short as possible. Their phone calls have taught him to let Parker do most of the talking, and the boy would be impossible to shut up right now anyway; he's talking a mile a minute, about school and friends and practice and everything else that comes to his mind.

 

At long last, Parker calms down a little; he lets go of Booth's neck, but shakes his head when Rebecca pulls up two chairs and tells him to sit down. Instead, he stays by Booth's side and holds on to his hand as if he were afraid Booth might disappear any moment, and Booth has to take deep, measured breaths to keep the lump in his throat from choking him.

 

"Dad?" For the first time, Parker hesitates before asking a question. "Do you know how long you'll still have to stay here?"

 

Booth wishes he had an answer to that. "It's too early to tell, buddy. I'm much better already, but it will still be a while until I can leave. But you've been so patient until now, you can hang on for a bit longer, can't you?"

 

"Yeah, sure." In spite of his words, Parker doesn't seem convinced. "But you're going to be okay, aren't you? I mean really okay, like you were before?"

 

Booth hears Rebecca inhaling sharply, but he doesn't look at her; his focus is entirely on Parker. "Yes, Parker, I'll be okay. It will take time, but everything is going to be all right."

 

Parker still looks dubious. "Promise?"

 

"I promise." Booth doesn't allow himself to ponder that this might be a promise he can't keep; he knows the doctors are giving him only a fifty-fifty chance of a full recovery, but right now he can believe that he's going to make it happen, that he'll overcome any odds to make sure that Parker gets his father back.

 

The boy nods solemnly, and Booth gets a little choked up again at the way his doubtful expression changes into one of complete and utter trust. He doesn't care how difficult it will be, there's no way he's going to fail his son.

 

"Okay. Can I get a soda?"

 

The effortless change of topic makes Booth laugh, even though it strikes him again just how much of a child this boy still is. "Yeah, sure; there's a vending machine right around the corner…"

 

Parker looks at him expectantly, and Booth realizes with a sinking feeling that he expects him to come with him. It's not that Booth can't walk at all – with some help, he can make it to the bathroom and back to his bed by now, but he has never been in the hallway when he wasn't being moved in a hospital bed or, lately, a wheelchair.

 

Rebecca has watched them silently so far, but now she catches on quickly and tries to intervene. "Let's go get one for you, Parker."

 

"Can't you come along, Dad?" There's an edge in Parker's voice that tells Booth he knows very well there's a bigger issue here; maybe Booth's assurances weren't quite enough after all.

 

"Parker." Rebecca sounds gentle, but there's a hint of a warning in her tone. "We've talked about this, remember?"

 

Booth feels his stomach clench again; the thought that Rebecca considered it necessary to give Parker instructions for meeting his father doesn't sit well with him at all.

 

"No, Becca, it's okay." He pushes himself to his feet before he can reconsider; there are a hundred ways this can go terribly wrong, but he _needs_ to prove to Parker that he told him the truth. "Can you maybe…"

 

Rebecca doesn't seem happy, but she gets what he means, and she quickly steps up to him so he can put an arm around her shoulders to support himself. She wraps her own arm around his waist and holds on tightly, and it strikes him that he hasn't been this close to her in what feels like an eternity.

 

Then Parker is by his other side and takes Booth's free hand, and the realization that Parker is trying to help makes his eyes sting for a moment.

 

Booth carefully sets one foot in front of the other; he tries not to lean on Rebecca too heavily, but he has never walked this far before, and he's out of breath and sweating profusely by the time they reach the vending machine. Parker gets his soda, and Booth is grateful that they don't run into a nurse or doctor on their way back because there would be hell to pay if they caught him in the hallway.

 

He's shaking from exhaustion when they're finally back in the room, and Booth doesn't protest when Rebecca leads him straight to the bed because he feels half a second away from collapsing. Still, the fact that he didn't disappoint Parker makes him forget the burning in his muscles, and even Rebecca smiles when she whispers "You're still an idiot, you know that, right?" into his ear.

 

Booth turns his head to look at her; he still has his arm around her shoulders, and he's close enough to see that her eyes are shining with unshed tears. She holds his gaze for a moment; then she smiles again and tells him softly, "I'm glad you're back, Seeley."

 

He's suddenly incredibly grateful that all his good memories of _her_ are real, that she too remembers what they had together even though it's long past. On an impulse, he pulls her closer; she seems startled for a moment, but then her arms come up to hug him back. Parker was still holding on to Booth's hand, but now he sidles up to them until he's firmly in the middle of their embrace, and Booth realizes that this must be the first time the boy has ever seen any kind of physical affection between his parents. They probably make a strange tableau, but Booth is forcibly reminded that this, too, is his family, no matter how dysfunctional it may be.

 

Then Rebecca helps him get into bed, and Booth sinks back into the pillows with a profound sense of relief because he really couldn't have stayed upright for much longer. As much as he wants Parker to stay, he knows his exhaustion will get the better of him pretty soon.

 

"Buddy, I'm afraid it's nap time for me now…"

 

"But it's the middle of the afternoon!" Parker sounds downright horrified, and Booth remembers how difficult it used to be to make him go to bed when he was younger.

 

"Yeah, I know, but I still need a lot of sleep to get better."

 

Parker accepts that, but there seems to be something else on his mind. "Are you dreaming a lot?"

 

Booth is wide awake again at once. "Why do you ask?"

 

"Bones said you dreamed a lot while you were in the coma."

 

Booth draws in a sharp breath; so Bones considered it necessary to prepare Parker too, and even though he can't fault her for it, he really wishes she had told him first. "Yeah, I did."

 

"Do you remember if you dreamed of me?" The question is innocent enough, but Booth feels his insides turning to ice at the memory that is suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

 

I remember you sending me back to war.

 

Christ. He can still hear Parker telling him that he needed to go back to the Army to save lives, and he remembers the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck when the boy calmly refuted every reason Booth had come up with why he would not, _could_ not go back.

 

How did _that_ not alert him to the fact that something was wrong? How could he ever believe…

 

Booth frantically searches his mind for a happier memory of Parker, but he's horrified to realize that almost nothing comes up; his thoughts wander back to Bones and their baby as soon as he allows them to return to what still feels more real than this hospital to him, but Parker is nowhere in those memories. How can he remember everything so clearly and not remember his son?

 

Parker is still looking at him expectantly, and Booth forcibly pulls himself together because the boy must never, ever know of this. "I… I don't really remember my dreams, Parker." He has no idea how he manages it, but somehow the lie comes out sounding completely sincere. "You know how it is when you wake up and don't remember what you were dreaming about?"

 

Parker nods solemnly, and Booth feels a sharp sting of shame at the realization that his son believes him. Rebecca seems anxious to leave, and Booth reminds himself that he needs to keep it together until they're both safely out of the door. He returns Parker's good-bye hug and promises him he'll see him again soon, but he feels strangely numb inside, and for the first time the knowledge that he'll be able to go back to sleep in a few minutes fills him with a vague sense of dread.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Booth knows he should listen to what Dr. Bryar is telling him, but he finds it hard to concentrate because he still can't reconcile his memories of the cheerful, flirty woman he used to date with the businesslike, no-nonsense neurologist in front of him. He hopes Bones is paying attention to the medical facts Dr. Bryar is spouting so she can translate them for him later; he, however, has trouble focusing on anything the woman is saying until a word grabs his attention.

 

" _Home_? I can go home?"

 

"I see no reason to keep you here, Mr. Booth. You're able to manage everyday tasks without assistance by now, and while it's absolutely necessary that you continue with your therapeutic regimen, you can do so as an outpatient. Patients at your stage of recovery tend to improve faster in familiar surroundings, and your latest test results were very encouraging, so we'll be sending you home in a couple of days."

 

He's going home. Booth is still trying to wrap his mind around that sudden turn of events when Dr. Bryar adds with a glance at her ever-present clipboard, "It says here that you live alone?"

 

The heady, excited feeling that was building in his chest collapses and ties itself into the familiar knot of resigned misery. Of course he won't be going home – because there's no way back to the home he remembers, to the house filled with love and laughter and hope for the future. The word had him fooled for a moment, but now that the merciless reality catches up with him, he can't muster any enthusiasm for the idea of returning to an empty apartment that holds no meaning for him any more.

 

He turns his head to the side, where Bones is sitting in her usual spot, and her smile is so hopeful that he forces himself to smile back for her sake.

 

"Yeah, I do, but –"

 

"It won't be a problem." Bones sounds calm and collected, but Booth knows her well enough to hear the underlying mix of eagerness and anxiety. "I'll be happy to help in any way I can, and I can check on you daily and run all those errands for you that you can't manage yourself yet."

 

Booth has no idea what to say to that; touched as he is by her willingness to help, it's also a cruel reminder of how much help he still needs, and probably will keep needing for God knows how long.

 

Dr. Bryar seems satisfied with the answer, though. "That should be sufficient. We'll draw up a therapy schedule for you; Miss Shaw can work out the details with your other therapists and make the necessary appointments. I assume she'll keep working with you?"

 

Booth has no idea why she's asking _him_ that question, but Bones answers it for him. "Miss Shaw has already agreed to continue with their daily therapy sessions after Booth's release from the hospital."

 

"I need to come back here every day? Then why are you releasing me in the first place?" Booth figures they probably think that he'll prefer sleeping in his own bed, but he honestly doesn't care where he spends his nights – if he doesn't get to go to bed and wake up with _her_ , it doesn't make any difference to him.

 

"Of course not, Miss Shaw will be coming to your apartment." It's once again Bones who answers, and Booth remembers belatedly how Genny told him that she doesn't actually work for the hospital. He has been preoccupied with too many other things until now to consider these matters, but he suddenly finds himself wondering if his health insurance will cover the services of a freelancing therapist.

 

The thought triggers a deeply disquieting chain reaction of unwelcome realizations. He has been worrying about Bones and Parker, but when it comes to himself, he has been entirely focused on the life he lost. He has never wasted a thought on the life he left behind in this reality – a life that went on without him during the months he spent at the hospital. Now he'll be forced to go back; no matter how much he wishes he could leave it all behind and return to where he belongs, he knows he has to accept that it's the only kind of life he's going to get, and that he'll have to start living it again, which means he'll have to deal with a ton of practical problems he didn't even consider until now.

 

Bones seems to notice that there's something on his mind, but of course she has no way of knowing what he's thinking. "Don't worry about your apartment, Booth; I went there at least once a week to make sure everything is in order."

 

"I must be way behind on the rent by now." He can't even tell how long it's been since he has last set foot into the place – it feels like it's been forever since he and Bones packed up his stuff to move it to the 'Mighty Hut', but she was already hugely pregnant then, so it can't have been…

 

_Stop_. Booth forcibly reins in his thoughts before they can stray any further down that path. However, he's still not certain about the amount of time that has passed; he knows how long his coma lasted, but much of the weeks – months? – afterwards is a blur of disjointed images with no real chronology to them. He's been to the hospital garden and knows it's fall outside, and Bones will tell him today's date if he asks her, but that doesn't change the fact that the passing of time seems to stretch and contract like a rubber band around him.

 

"Don't worry about it." Something in her tone brings him back to the present; she sounds so casual that he can only conclude she's trying to slip something by him, and it's not hard to guess what that might be.

 

"You paid my bills?" He doesn't know why he feels so mortified by the idea after everything she has witnessed during the last few months, but he can still feel an angry blush rising in his cheeks.

 

"Would you have preferred to be evicted from your apartment for not paying them?" She doesn't even sound defensive – just presenting him with the hard, cold facts, and even though it makes him feel like an ungrateful ass, it doesn't ease the sting of humiliation.

 

"I'll pay you back."

 

"I told you not to worry about it." A stern edge has slipped into her tone. "I'm your partner, Booth, and you were the one who taught me that partners are supposed to look out for each other. There are more important things for you to focus on than your bills."

 

She's right, of course, but now that they've opened this can of worms, Booth finds himself unable to let it go – because now that he thinks about it, he's forced to realize that paying her back might not even be an option for him in the foreseeable future.

 

Booth tries to remember the amount of sick days he has accumulated over the years, but even if he factors in his unused leave, the number he ends up with is way too low. He has never been faced with this problem before because all his earlier long-time hospital stays were the result of work-related injuries, and it's only now that he realizes the situation is very different this time. _Damn, damn, damn_ …

 

"Doctor – can you give me an estimate when I'll be able to go back to work?"

 

Dr. Bryar hesitates for a moment, which already tells him what she thinks of the question. "It's too early to tell. Your progress during the last few weeks, combined with your test results, makes me optimistic about your chances of a full recovery, but it's going to take at least a few more months until you're fit to work again, and it will probably have to be a desk job for a while." She exchanges a quick glance with Bones that isn't lost on Booth. "I'm aware of the kind of job you and Dr. Brennan used to do, but I'm afraid that field work is out of the question for you for at least another year."

 

Booth takes a deep breath and squeezes Bones' fingers that have closed around his. He knows this isn't really bad news – on the contrary, it's the first time the doctor is speaking of his return to field work as an actual possibility, but still, a _year_ …

 

Once more, Booth does his best to stop a line of thought before it goes too far. As much as he hates the idea of being stuck behind a desk for months, he knows that getting well enough to go back to work at all will have to take priority right now. "A few more months as in – three? Four?"

 

"I work with MRIs and PET scans, not with crystal balls, Mr. Booth." Dr. Bryar is beginning to sound impatient, but then she relents. "Is this a financial issue? Don't you feds have short time disability coverage?"

 

Booth shakes his head. "Only if I'm injured in the line of duty. There's permanent disability retirement, but…" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence.

 

"You _will_ go back to being an FBI agent, Booth." Bones sounds absolutely certain, and Booth wishes he could share her optimism because right now, things are looking pretty bleak from where he stands. "I've called Assistant Director Hacker several times to keep him informed about your condition, and he assured me that he'll give you your job back as soon as your health allows it. That's what you need to focus on now; we'll be able to work out a solution for everything else."

 

_Hacker_. Booth closes his eyes and swallows the bile that's rising in his throat. The last thing he needs is his health issues getting Bones in contact with Hacker again. It's not that he doesn't trust her, and he doubts Hacker would have the bad taste to hit on her again while Booth is stuck at the hospital –

 

Except –

 

Booth clenches his teeth when he remembers that there's no reason why Hacker should hesitate to hit on her, considering that the guy in the hospital is nothing but her _partner_. God, when will he finally stop walking in these traps that always leave him feeling as if he'd had the ground pulled out from under his feet? He knows who he and Bones are, and everything they are _not_ , and yet those familiar details keep sneaking up on him and worming themselves into the bleak reality of his days like butterflies trying to slip through the colorless threads of a spider web.

 

The image seems eerily fitting, considering that the end result is the same for both.

 

It's one of those moments when the prospect of the same kind of struggle every day for the rest of his life seems so daunting that he can't bring himself to face it, that the temptation to just give up, to refuse any part in a life he doesn't want, becomes almost overwhelming. Yet _she_ is still here, her hand in his, her faith in his willingness to keep fighting as obvious as her determination to be with him every step of the way, and he knows he can't betray her trust in him, no matter what it's costing him.

 

He isn't sure whether he loves or resents her for it.

 

+++

 

If she uses the word _home_ one more time he's going to scream.

 

Booth sits on the sofa in his living room, which is just as lumpy and uncomfortable as he remembers it, and watches Bones putter around in his apartment with an almost frantic kind of energy. She drove him here from the hospital, carried his bag and refused to let him help her unpack his stuff, and as much as Booth hates being banished to the couch, there's no denying that the trip took a lot out of him because he feels ready to collapse where he's sitting.

 

This is wrong, _everything_ is wrong –

 

Bones keeps up a constant level of cheerful, meaningless chatter that seems strangely out of character for her while she flits from one room to the other, never standing still long enough for him to start an actual conversation with her – not that he has any idea what they're supposed to talk about.

 

She disappears into the kitchen when she has finished unpacking; after a while, the aroma of mac and cheese starts drifting through the apartment.

 

"Do you want to eat here or in the kitchen?" Bones reappears carrying two plates; she looks so pleased with herself that he can't bring himself to admit that the mere thought of food makes his stomach clench.

 

"Here's fine."

 

It isn't lost on him how much distance she keeps between them when she sits down beside him. Bones seems to have run out of topics of conversation, and the sudden silence makes Booth's skin crawl.

 

He picks at his food and hopes she won't notice that he isn't actually eating, but at least it gives him something to talk about. "There's no way you made that right now."

 

"No, I made it in the morning and brought it over when I came to stock up your fridge. It's not as good when it's re-heated, but –"

 

"It tastes great." Booth forces himself to take a bite and smiles at her. "Thanks, Bones, that – that was really nice of you."

 

"I assumed that you would like something you consider 'real' food after the hospital diet. It's not what you should be eating on a regular basis during your recovery, but I thought that there should be an exception for your first meal back home."

 

Booth flinches, and tries to cover it up by taking another bite. It seems to grow bigger in his mouth the longer he tries to chew it, and he can barely force it down.

 

"Bones, listen – I really appreciate your help today, and that you cooked for me and everything, but I'm kinda beat."

 

"Of course." She's out of her seat so quickly that he has to wonder whether she has only been waiting for her cue. "Let me just clean away the dishes… and you'll call me if you need anything, yes? Miss Shaw will be here at nine o'clock tomorrow, and I'll be back around noon, but you can call me anytime, whether I'm at the lab or at home. Your meds are on your nightstand, and I put the –"

 

"Bones, I'll be _fine_." He doesn't want her to think that he isn't grateful for what she's trying to do here, but right now he can't take her fussing any more; he just wants to be _alone_. "I promise I'll call if there's anything, okay?"

 

"Okay." She reaches out like she's going to hug him good-bye, but reconsiders at the last moment and gives him an awkward pat on the arm instead. "Good night, Booth, and – I'm glad you're home again."

 

Booth breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the door fall shut behind her, but the ensuing silence soon feels oppressive instead of comforting. He takes a look around, finally forcing himself to pay attention to his surroundings. It's the apartment he remembers, and yet the details feel wrong – some things are out of place, some are different than he remembers them, some are missing altogether. After a while, he struggles to his feet – the dull pain in his muscles that had begun to ease during the last weeks is back with a vengeance after the unusual exertion of the trip from the hospital – and slowly makes his way to the kitchen to get some water for his meds.

 

He walks into the kitchen without switching on the lights and promptly hits his shin on a piece of furniture that shouldn't be there. Booth mutters a curse and reaches for the light switch – and then freezes at the sight of the stove that he had to replace ages ago because Pops set it on fire.

 

The sensation of utter wrongness becomes overwhelming, and Booth hastily grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and gets out of the kitchen. He just needs this day to be over – tomorrow, there'll be time to readjust and to learn to deal with the fact that he feels like he traveled back in time, but for today he has reached the limit of what he can take.

 

He doesn't bother to undress or to brush his teeth; he just swallows his pills, struggles out of his pants and crawls under the blankets.

 

+++

 

An hour later, he's still staring at the ceiling. He's so exhausted that he's shaking all over, but sleep won't come; he can feel the nightmares closing in on him every time he's about to drift off, and the suffocating sensation of loss and loneliness that always accompanies them is enough to keep him awake. He tries to find refuge in the safety of his memories of a happier life, but ever since Parker's first visit to the hospital he has had trouble losing himself in the easy, uncomplicated joy that those memories used to bring. The images are still there, but they seem to slip through his fingers when he tries to hold on to one of them, and more than once Booth has found that he has trouble remembering a specific moment that he's sure was perfectly clear in his mind just a short while before.

 

The fear that he might actually forget that other life, that he might no longer find his way back to the place he considers his real home, has become his constant companion. Booth squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on the last moments he remembers of that life, of him and Bones getting their home ready for the birth of their child, and he's struck by the realization that he completely forgot that time used to pass in that other place as well, that he's been trying to relive the same moments over and over when he should have been going on with his life. With a sudden rush of hope, Booth allows his thoughts to reach out further, past the events he remembers, into what the immediate future had in store for them. Bones was days away from giving birth, so they had to get the nursery ready, and he still had to dissuade her of her crazy ideas about 'natural' childbirth and find a hospital they could both agree on…

 

It's with the mental image of a hugely pregnant Bones waddling through the corridors of a hospital with a black light wand and a disdainful sneer on her face that he finally slips into sleep.

 

+++

 

Something isn't right.

 

This is his home, the place he knows like the back of his hand, and yet it isn't. The rooms have never felt so empty; his steps have never echoed in the hallways before, and even the familiar creaking of the ancient wooden stairs suddenly sounds ominous in the suffocating silence. Everything that made the house theirs is gone, love and happiness and laughter snuffed out like candles – what remains is a dead shell, the corpse that's left behind when the soul has been ripped from it.

 

Even the colors have disappeared; the image before his eyes is in monochrome and strangely grainy like the pictures from a cheap camera. There's something in those pictures, a dark, forbidding figure that flits in and out of his line of sight, and as much as Booth tries to focus on it, he can't get a clear look at his ghost-like enemy. He doesn't question how he knows it's an enemy – all his senses are screaming danger at him, but for some reason he finds it difficult to be alert and on his guard like he needs to be. It's hard to breathe because of the lead weight of pain and loneliness on his chest; he's paralyzed by an overwhelming sensation of loss that makes him want to disappear into the darkness he can feel creeping into his mind. Yet he knows it's not the kind of darkness that brings comfort and solace – the inky blackness is cold and menacing, and he senses his enemy watching him from behind the dark veil that separates them.

 

For a second, he can almost make out a face – eyes like chips of ice, all-seeing and unfeeling, and a mouth set in a cruel smile that both mocks and threatens. He tries to grab the phantom that haunts him, but his hands pass through it as if it were a wisp of smoke, and the sound of soft, contemptuous laughter is still ringing in his ears when the shrill beeping of his alarm clock startles him awake.

 

Booth opens his eyes and quickly closes them again when nothing he sees makes sense. This isn't his bedroom, and yet it's eerily familiar – like the half-forgotten memory of a place that once used to have meaning for him. He tries to clear his thoughts, but the strong feeling of disorientation doesn't abate as he struggles to remember how he ended up in a place that firmly belongs into the past.

 

The past… wait, that's it, isn't it? This used to be his bedroom, at the apartment where he lived before – what? He knows he went somewhere else, but somehow he ended up back here… and he wasn't alone either; someone was with him, someone _important_ …

 

Belatedly, it dawns on Booth that he probably isn't alone in his bed, and that he'd better figure out who he's going to see once he opens his eyes. He knows he only just came back from somewhere, and the only time he was away lately was – Afghanistan?

 

Glad that there's finally something concrete to hold on to, Booth opens his eyes again and turns his head to check for a mass of blond hair on the pillow beside him. He has no idea how Hannah managed to sleep through the alarm, but –

 

The other side of the bed is empty. Booth blinks in surprise, but then memories are beginning to surface – Hannah isn't here any more, she left after… after it turned out that she wasn't who he thought she was? That sounds wrong somehow, and his head is beginning to hurt from the effort to figure out what's going on.

 

_Bones_. The realization leaves him almost giddy with relief. Of course he came here with Bones – they've stayed at her place a lot lately, but they agreed to take turns between their apartments, and Bones has always been a stickler for established rules. Booth listens for any sounds coming from the bathroom – she's probably in there, given that she needs to pee every ten minutes these days because their baby takes up all the room in her belly…

 

The sound of the door bell interrupts his thoughts. Wincing at the pain in his muscles (what the hell did he do last night to make him so sore?), Booth scrambles out of bed and shrugs on a robe on his way to the door. His head is still fuzzy, and the remnants of the dream – it was a dream, right? – have left him with a lingering feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, but he does his best to ignore it as he cracks the door open.

 

"Good morning, Seeley!" Agent Shaw sounds much more cheerful than she usually does in his presence, and she acts as if it were completely normal for her to show up on his doorstep. Before Booth can recover from his surprise, she walks in uninvited and looks him up and down with a mix of reproach and amusement. "Looks like you decided to sleep in on your first morning at home. You didn't forget our appointment, did you? Because Dr. Brennan will have both our hides if I let you skip therapy."

 

Booth shakes his head in a vain attempt to clear it. What –

 

Appointment. Genny. Therapy.

 

Coma.

 

_Bones_.

 

He has to lean against the wall for support as realization hits him. Of course Bones isn't in the bathroom – she's at her apartment, or probably at the lab by now, and she'll be back later today to check on her _partner_ because that's all they are, all they've ever been no matter what his brain keeps telling him.

 

Genny watches him with a slight frown. "Are you okay?"

 

"Fine." The answer is automatic; the word hasn't meant anything for a long time. "Just a little… disoriented, I guess."

 

"That's completely normal at this stage." She takes his arm and gently but firmly drags him towards the living room. "Come on, let's get started."

 

+++

 

By the time Genny leaves, Booth feels like he has his feet back on the ground. He knows today's date, he remembers the time he spent at the hospital, and he's aware that Bones isn't pregnant with his baby and never has been. The raw feeling that comes with that knowledge hasn't gotten any easier to endure, but he figures it's the price he has to pay for no longer being lost in his own mind.

 

It doesn't last, though. The moment he's alone in his apartment again, the strange sensation of wrongness is back, and it's getting stronger with every passing minute. He's getting hungry, but he can't bring himself to go near the kitchen because he isn't sure any longer what it's going to look like; he has to go and check Parker's room when he realizes that he doesn't know if he's going to find building blocks or Hockey gear there, and when he steps into the bathroom to shave, he automatically rinses out the sink afterwards because Hannah flips at the sight of beard clippings, but then he doesn't use his favorite aftershave because Bones claims the smell makes her morning sickness worse.

 

He eventually manages to get cleaned up and dressed, but that's as far as his strength goes, and he collapses on the couch even though he's terrified of falling asleep with last nights' dream still fresh on his mind. Yet he can already feel the exhaustion pulling him under, and he does his best to think of something, _anything_ that will keep the nightmares at bay. Right now he doesn't care whether his happy memories are real or not – he needs them if he ever wants to sleep peacefully again, but the images in his mind are too fleeting and too chaotic to hold on to any of them.

 

He tries to keep his thoughts simple – to just focus on the image of Bones because everything else will fall into place somehow, but she's gone, torn away from him by the same faceless danger that has been haunting his nights. He knows he needs to find her, but she has disappeared, forced into hiding by an enemy he couldn't protect her from, and he can hear the mocking laughter in his ears as he wanders the empty hallways of their home and calls her name even though he knows the only reply he'll get is his own echo.

 

" _Bones_!"

 

"Booth, I'm here – calm down, everything's okay…"

 

He almost sobs with relief at the sound of her voice; he has no idea how it happened, but she's here, alive and whole and gloriously real, and her arms around him chase the suffocating weight of loneliness away. Booth clings to her for dear life, fearing that she'll disappear if he lets go, that he'll find himself alone again the moment she no longer is in his arms.

 

"Bones…"

 

"I'm here, but you need to wake up, you're having a nightmare. Can you hear me?"

 

A frantic edge has slipped into her tone, and Booth forces his eyes open and blinks owlishly in the sudden brightness. He's on his couch, with Bones beside him; she's holding on to him, but quickly lets go once she's sure he's fully awake.

 

"Whatever it was, Booth, it wasn't real, it was only a bad dream. Do you hear what I'm saying?" She's still so close, and Booth desperately wants her arms back around him, but this is his _partner_ , skinny and pale and looking harried from months of worrying about him, and she needs him to pull himself together.

 

Booth takes a deep breath and tries to think of nothing but the here and now. "Yeah, sure, I hear you. It's – I'm okay, I just had a weird dream."

 

He's surprised when she accepts the explanation without further questions, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He's still deeply unsettled by his total failure to spend a few hours by himself without losing it completely, and he really doesn't want to discuss any of it right now.

 

"Are you hungry?" She points at a paper bag on the coffee table. "I brought your favorite soup from Mama's, and I could make us a few sandwiches."

 

"That would be great, thank you." Booth forces himself to smile, and the way her face lights up in return makes it seem worth the effort to put on a brave front for her sake. He isn't hungry, but he knows she'll worry if he doesn't eat, and she has been through enough already.

 

Besides, eating will give them something to do because the mood between them is already getting awkward again. Bones' retreat to the kitchen almost feels like flight, but she's back with the re-heated soup and a plate of sandwiches soon enough. Booth is downright glad that the complete lack of meat in any of the sandwiches gives him something to complain about, and Bones seems a little relieved too when she lectures him on the importance of healthy eating during his recovery. There's only so much even Bones can say about the benefits of rabbit food, though, and Booth knows they need another topic of conversation before the uncomfortable silence settles in again.

 

"Bones, I meant to ask you before – how can you spend so much time with me during the day and still manage to do your work?"

 

The stricken look on her face makes him realize that he sounds like he doesn't _want_ her with him, and he quickly adds, "I mean, I'm glad that you're here, but I'm worried that you'll overdo it – you're probably working through the nights to catch up, and even you need sleep from time to time."

 

"Oh." She considers for a few moments before she answers. "My current workload isn't too taxing, so you concern is unnecessary. Cam doesn't mind me coming and going as I choose as long as my work gets done, and I'm actually ahead of schedule both with my limbo cases and with the current research project I'm conducting."

 

"Okay, but what about your FBI cases?" Booth has wanted to ask that question for a while, but he didn't have the nerve so far, and he hopes his attempt to sound casual is enough to fool her. "Who did Hacker assign to you as my replacement, anyway?"

 

"Agent Perotta is the temporary FBI liaison with the Jeffersonian." She pauses for another bite of sandwich and takes a long time to chew. "She's partnered with Dr. Edison, and their results are satisfactory."

 

Booth blinks in surprise. "With Clark? Why isn't she working with you?"

 

"Because I'm not working with the FBI any more." Now it's Bones who tries to sound casual, but he knows her too well to fall for it. "I told Assistant Director Hacker I wouldn't partner with anyone but you, and that I won't be working FBI cases until your return to active duty." Mistaking his stunned silence for disapproval, she adds, a tad defensive, "The decision was mine to make, Booth, and you're not going to change my mind."

 

Booth hastily forces down a mouthful of soup to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. "No, it's totally up to you, Bones. I just – I can't really imagine that you're happy playing with bones in limbo all day and not catching bad guys any more."

 

"I do miss the work we used to do together, but I can wait to resume field work until I can work with you again." She gives him a quick look that makes his breath catch. "You and I are the center, Booth – I haven't forgotten it."

 

_God help me_. It's one of those moments when he has no idea how he'll make it through the next five minutes without telling her how much he loves her – he has dealt with his share of them over the years, but he's so out of practice by now that he finds himself struggling to conceal from her how she makes him feel right now. Thankfully, Bones keeps talking as if she, too, felt the need to gloss over the moment.

 

"I still supervise Dr. Edison's work, of course, and sometimes I consult on particularly complicated cases. There was one, a while ago, where the murder victim had been encased in a giant bar of chocolate, and…" She falls silent when she notices his expression. "What?"

 

"I _remember_ that one." Booth puts his half-eaten sandwich aside. "How can I remember it when Perotta worked it with Clark? I could swear the two of us solved this case, Bones – it was the one where the vic's final burp ended up trapped in the chocolate, wasn't it?"

 

"Yes, it was." Bones has gone very pale at his words, but she rallies quickly. "Before the – before you woke up, I used to bring the case files I was working on to the hospital when I went to see you, and I often told you about details that I assumed you would find interesting or amusing. Obviously, you heard me and integrated the information into your…"

 

She doesn't finish the sentence, visibly uncertain which word to choose. Booth barely listens anyway; his mind is racing. His memories of the chocolate case are suddenly crystal clear, and the revelation that they aren't real is deeply disturbing. How many of the cases he remembers working with her were nothing but stories borrowed from other people's lives?

 

"That – makes sense, I suppose." He barely manages to keep his voice steady, and even though he has shied away from such topics until now, he suddenly can't help the need to dig deeper. "You haven't by any chance been to a body farm lately, have you?"

 

He can't read the look she gives him. "No, of course not – flesh isn't my field of expertise. Cam and Hodgins visited a body farm for a case a few months ago, though, and Dr. Hodgins was very excited that he got to witness the explosion of a decomposing body caused by a build-up of gases."

 

He doesn't need to say anything; his expression clearly does it for him.

 

"You remember that case too? I'm sure I mentioned it to you, Hodgins talked about little else for days."

 

"Yeah, I remember it." Booth struggles to bite back the sudden wave of nausea. "I can imagine that Hodgins loved it."

 

Bones smiles, but then frowns. "He insisted that telling the story would be a great way to pick up 'his kind of girl'. I'm not certain how the mention of an exploding body would help him choose a suitable mate, but…"

 

Booth doesn't hear the rest of the sentence. Hodgins is talking about girls – because he and Angela broke up, and there's no Hodgins-Montenegro baby just like there is no Booth-Brennan one. He knows this, but he can't reconcile the knowledge with his memories of a beaming, hugely pregnant Angela, of a grinning bug guy presenting them with his newborn son right before –

 

Bones' hand on his stops that train of thought before it can go any further. "Booth, are you okay? You look like you're about to be sick."

 

"It's not that." He wasn't planning on telling her about any of this, but now that he has started talking, he finds that he can't stop. "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Bones – everything is completely wrong, and nothing I remember makes sense. You talk about Hodgins trying to pick up girls, and my brain tells me that he's a husband and father who has no business even thinking of that. I don't even recognize my own apartment any more… I'm afraid of walking into a room because I don't know what it's going to look like, I checked the toys in Parker's room to see if they were for a toddler or a pre-teen, and when I woke up today I didn't even know where I was, or who would be sleeping next to me."

 

He hesitates for a moment, but he has said too much already, and he just doesn't have the energy to keep up any pretenses. "I keep expecting to see Hannah working on her laptop in the living room, or you doing your baby yoga thing on the bedroom floor. It was better when Genny was here earlier, but everything started to go south again when I was alone. I – I don't know how to deal with this, Bones, I really don't know."

 

As reluctant as he was before to confide in her, the way she looks at him tells him he was right to admit what's going on. She looks neither shocked nor worried, on the contrary – he has seen this expression a thousand times, whenever she was faced with a problem nobody else could figure out. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan, world-renowned scientist, at her most determined to get answers and not to let up until she has them. He has always admired that fiery, single-minded resolve, but he has never realized how much comfort it brings to those who need her to find answers for them.

 

"I see." She sounds clinical, but right now that's exactly what he wants to hear from her – his gut isn't going to get him through this, but he can always count on her brain. "Is that what your nightmare was about?"

 

The question takes him by surprise. "Not… not really, I – it's a dream I've been having for a while, and I don't really know what's going on. There's something, or probably _someone_ , and I know he's dangerous, and he's everywhere, but I can never get near him. He wants to destroy everything that's dear to me, and there's nothing I can do about it. It's different each time, but it always feels the same – like everyone I love has been taken away from me, and I'm left behind, all alone and with no idea if I'll ever get them back…"

 

He falls silent because he isn't sure he can keep it together if he keeps talking, but she doesn't press him for more information. Her hand around his tightens, and for a while they sit in silence; when she finally speaks, her voice is quiet.

 

"I know what that feels like."

 

Booth's eyes go wide as he realizes that she of all people can understand him because she lived through this exact scenario, because what's just a nightmare for him became brutal reality for her when she was hardly more than a child. He wants to feel bad for stirring up her most painful memories, but he can't help being selfishly grateful that she can relate, that she won't judge him for being terrified of having to go through that experience again even if it's only inside his own brain.

 

He tries to find the words to tell her just that without saying too much, but Bones doesn't give him a chance to speak. "If your apartment aggravates your current memory issues, the logical solution would be to spend some time at a more neutral location until you feel secure enough to return, and your nightmare indicates that living alone is detrimental to your recovery right now. I have a guest room, and you're welcome to stay there as long as you need to."

 

When his only reaction is a disbelieving stare, her clinical façade slips a bit. She hesitates, and there's a hint of uncertainty in her voice when she asks, "Or… is that too difficult for you?"

 

_Stars twinkling over their heads, soft music in his ears as he held her in his arms, determined to let her have that memory no matter how much heartache it caused him…_

 

Booth shakes his head and tries to banish the image. He knows what she means by her question, but he's sure that everything it encompasses will be easier to deal with than the suffocating silence of his empty apartment.

 

"No, that – I think that would help a lot, Bones. Are you sure –"

 

She doesn't even let him finish. "Then let's go pack your bags."

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bones' apartment looks exactly like he remembers it. Booth feels like a weight that he hadn't even noticed until now is being lifted from his shoulders when he realizes it – there's finally one place where nothing has changed, where everything is the way he recalls it (even though it feels like he hasn't been here in ages) and he doesn't have to be afraid of accidentally stepping into another life just by walking into the next room.

 

Bones helps him get settled in her guest room, and the fact that it's so unfamiliar is strangely comforting too. He has never slept here; he crashed on her couch a few times when their paperwork didn't get finished until the early hours of the morning, but he doesn't think he has ever set foot into her guest room before, and right now he's deeply grateful for that.

 

He was afraid that things would be painfully awkward between them at such close quarters, but she seems surprisingly relaxed. She makes him take a nap before dinner, and the sounds of her moving around in the apartment lull him into a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep; when he's woken by Bones calling his name, the unavoidable moment of confusion is so short that it barely registers with him. She knocks on the door and sticks her head in to ask him if he's hungry because she cooked for them, and for just a fleeting second, Booth feels like he might have managed to come home after all.

 

He sleeps like the dead that night, and even though he wakes up from a very weird dream the next morning, he's pretty sure it wasn't a nightmare. Bones is getting ready to leave for work when he staggers out of the guest room, and she tells him Genny already knows of the move and will be here in less than an hour. Booth briefly wonders what Genny will make of this new development, but he finds that it doesn't bother him overmuch – given the amount of deeply embarrassing things his therapist already knows about him, this one hardly seems worth getting worked up over it.

 

Genny tells him that it seems like he's got "his head screwed on right again" when they're done with their therapy session, and even though it's probably not the most sensitive thing to say to a patient in his situation, Booth has to laugh at her bluntness that reminds him a little of Bones.

 

Bones is back for a late lunch a few hours later and informs him that she took the afternoon off. "It's such a beautiful day, so I thought you might like to go for a walk."

 

Booth hesitates; it's true that he has been cooped up inside for far too long, and the late September sun that shines through Bones' windows makes him ache for the feeling of sunlight on his skin, but he isn't sure if he will be up to a walk if an hour of physical therapy is already enough to wear him out. "Sounds great, but I don't know if…"

 

"You remember that park where I used to go running? We'll take the car to get there, and we don't have to walk far, but I think some fresh air would be good for you."

 

Booth can't help thinking that a bit of sunshine and fresh air might be just what she needs too, given her pale face and the dark shadows under her eyes, so he finally relents. The park _is_ nice with the brilliantly colored leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and even though wandering along the paved walkways at a snail's pace makes Booth feel like he's ninety years old, it does feel good to move around a little.

 

Bones is nattering about the ancient skeleton she's currently analyzing for some international research project; she's got her arm looped through his, and even though Booth knows she did it so she would be able to steady him if he should need it, he can almost fool himself into believing that they're just a normal couple enjoying the nice weather together. He tries to ignore the sounds of playing children that are drifting over from the nearby playground, and to focus on nothing but her – her hand on his arm, her tentative smile whenever he looks at her – to keep them safe from everything that would shatter the fragile moment of peace.

 

The next day she has to drive him to the hospital for his first session of outpatient therapy. Booth is beginning to chafe at the fact that he needs her for pretty much everything; even if the FBI hadn't taken his SUV away for the duration of his medical leave, there'd be no telling when he'll be allowed to drive again. Bones insists she doesn't mind, but he can't help it that _he_ does even though he tries no to show it because he doesn't want her to think that he doesn't appreciate what she's doing for him.

 

He feels dead on his feet by the time they're back from the hospital, but Bones won't let him go to bed without eating dinner first. "Your body needs the proper amount of nutrition in order to make a full recovery, Booth; I know you're tired, but you'll never get your strength back if you don't eat enough."

 

She keeps nagging him throughout the meal when he mostly picks at his food, and it feels like a strange role reversal after years of trying to get _her_ to eat regularly. Unbidden, the memory of her stealing his pie at the diner during one of her pregnancy-induced eating binges rises in his mind, and even though he quickly suppresses it, he knows what he'll be picturing when he falls asleep to the sounds of her rummaging around in the kitchen that night.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

"Will you finally tell me now where we're going?"

 

Bones keeps her eyes on the road. "I told you, Booth, we're visiting a friend."

 

Booth isn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed by her steadfast refusal to divulge her secret. He has been badgering her all weekend, ever since she first brought up this visit, but so far she has kept mum. "You know I'll get it out of you eventually – I'm a damn good interrogator, after all." _Used to be_ , his subconscious reminds him, but Booth does his best to ignore it.

 

"I'm not a criminal, and you only have to wait for another couple of minutes anyway. He told me he wanted it to be a surprise." Underneath the smug tone, he detects a hint of uncertainty, as if she weren't sure this was such a good idea after all.

 

Then she turns a corner, and the sight of a very familiar suburban house, complete with white picket fence and a barbecue in the backyard, doesn't leave any more room for guesses.

 

"You're taking me to see Gordon Gordon." It's not a question, but Bones nods nevertheless.

 

"He invited us for tea as soon as you'd be up to it." Noticing his expression, she quickly adds, "You refused therapy with Sweets, but you didn't rule out Dr. Wyatt, so I spoke with him while you were still at the hospital, and –"

 

"And what?" He knows she's only trying to help, but he's getting angry nevertheless. "What else have you decided for me behind my back?"

 

She kills the engine in front of the house and gives him a sharp look, but her tone is even when she answers, "I didn't _decide_ anything for you, I merely asked Dr. Wyatt if he'd be available if you wanted to talk to him."

 

"And he said yes? I thought he quit." He's already regretting his harsh words, but he's so sick of other people making decisions for him, no matter what their intentions are.

 

"He's no longer with the FBI, so he won't be able to help you with your official re-certification when the time comes. He told me he'd be happy to talk with you if you think it might help, though – and if you don't, he said he'd nevertheless be happy to see us again. This is a social call, Booth, and unless you want it to, it won't become anything else."

 

"Right." Booth mulls this over for a few moments. She doesn't say anything, just gives him time to think, and he has to admit that the idea has some merit. If there's anyone he would trust to come up with something helpful instead of the usual shrinky crap, it's definitely Gordon Gordon. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

 

"It's okay." How often has she told him that during the last few weeks? "Can we go in now?"

 

+++

 

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth! How lovely to see you again!"

 

Gordon Gordon is the image of joviality as he ushers them into the house and offers them seats on the huge plush couch in his living room. Booth gingerly sits down next to Bones and makes a face at the sight of the teapot on the coffee table.

 

Their host gives a rueful chuckle. "I'm afraid I still haven't mastered the art of American coffee-making, so I decided not to insult your palate by trying. However, I'll attempt to reconcile you with my British tastes with the help of my dear grandmother's famous treacle scones. Help yourselves, please."

 

To Booth's surprise, Bones leans forward eagerly. "I tried these when I was in York for a conference a couple of years ago, and they were really very good."

 

Gordon Gordon pushes the platter towards her with a beaming smile. "Yes, British cuisine tends to surpass its reputation if one takes the time to get a little more closely acquainted. It's a bit of a challenge to get proper clotted cream around here, but I did what I could, and the homemade raspberry jam turned out quite nicely, if I say so myself."

 

"You freak out when I put whole milk on my cereal, but you're going to eat _that_ cream?" The scones don't look all that inviting to Booth, but from the way Bones is tearing into hers, you'd think she hadn't eaten for days.

 

Bones has her mouth full and merely shrugs, but it isn't lost on Booth how Gordon Gordon's smile widens at the exchange. He quickly decides to change the topic. "So you're really training to be a chef, doc?"

 

"Indeed, and I find it very satisfying so far." Gordon Gordon takes a sip from his teacup and winks at Booth. "I still have my license, though, so if there's anything you'd like to discuss with me, you needn't worry that I've lost my qualification – whatever that means in the field of psychology, as Dr. Brennan is undoubtedly going to point out in a second."

 

Bones, still chewing, merely gives him an approving thumbs-up signal that seems so out of character for her that Booth has to laugh – until he remembers a morning at the shooting range when she gave _him_ the same sign to confirm that he was still the same man he had been before…

 

_Before._

 

Because he hasn't even touched a gun since he woke up from the coma, which means that this memory, too, is of a moment that only happened inside his brain.

 

"Judging by your expression, Agent Booth, I'd say there _is_ something you'd like to talk about."

 

_Damn the man_. Booth knows he's probably right, but he's not sure he's feeling up to having his head shrunk right now, so he tries to deflect. "I'm not much of an agent these days, I'm afraid."

 

"Did you retire from your position at the FBI?" Gordon Gordon pauses for a moment, then continues, "Given that look of dismay on your face, that's obviously not the case. Therefore, you'll forgive me if I keep addressing you as 'Agent Booth' – it hardly seems worth the effort to break an old habit just because you're on temporary medical leave." When Booth still doesn't answer, he adds casually, "You're the same man you were before your illness, after all."

 

Booth pushes his plate away; the scones aren't all that bad, but he has lost his appetite. "I'm not so sure about that."

 

"So I hear." Gordon Gordon leans forward a bit. "Just to be clear, Agent Booth, this isn't therapy. I'd be happy to help if you think I can be of assistance, but it's entirely up to you whether you'd rather talk or finish your tea in peace."

 

"Right." Booth stares at his interlaced fingers, weighing his options, but no matter from which angle he looks at the problem, the result is always the same. "I guess we might just as well talk, now that I'm already here."

 

"I had barely dared to hope for such a ringing endorsement." In spite of the sarcastic reply, Gordon Gordon seems genuinely pleased. "In this case –"

 

He doesn't get further because Bones interrupts him. "Dr. Wyatt, don't you think it would be better if I left? I mean…" She falters when Booth's head whips around, but then presses on. "It hardly seems appropriate for me to be present, considering that the things Booth and you are going to discuss will likely be very personal." She's clearly talking to Booth now, but when he doesn't react, she addresses him directly. "I know that your privacy is important to you, Booth, and I wouldn't want to intrude, so if you'd like me to leave, you just have to say so. I can come back and pick you up when you're done."

 

There's a look in her eyes that he can't interpret – it's frantic, almost desperate, and he can only conclude that she's trying to find a way out of this situation before things start hitting too close to home for her. He doesn't want her to leave; he still isn't sure what he's supposed to say, and the idea of having to face it alone is deeply unsettling. Yet he can't bring himself to ask her to stay – she has done so much for him already, and if she decides she has reached her limit, he doesn't dare to push her.

 

Careful not to let her notice how nervous he suddenly is, Booth shrugs and does his best to sound casual. "Sure, I'll be okay."

 

The relief he expected to see doesn't come; instead, her face falls. "Okay… then I'll –"

 

"Actually, Dr. Brennan, I would prefer it if you stayed, at least this time." If Gordon Gordon is aware of the sudden tension between them, he doesn't show it. "Since our first goal will be to assess Agent Booth's current status, I believe your input might prove quite valuable. If that's all right with you, Agent Booth?"

 

"Yeah, sure." Booth's answer comes almost too fast, and it seems to him that Bones does a double take when she hears it, but she doesn't look ready to bolt, so he figures they'll be able to manage for the time being.

 

"Excellent." Gordon Gordon rubs his hands and leans back in his seat. "Perhaps you should bring me up to date first. It is my understanding that you woke up from your coma believing that Dr. Brennan was pregnant with your child?"

 

Booth stiffens; he had assumed that they'd take some time to ease into the topic, but clearly Gordon Gordon doesn't feel like beating around the bush. Next to him, Bones' expression has gone stony, and he can only hope that Gordon Gordon knows what he's doing by making her stay for this.

 

"Yeah."

 

"And what, do you think, might have given you that idea?"

 

Before Booth can answer (not that he would know what to say), Bones does it for him.

 

"I did."

 

Both men turn to stare at her, and Booth can see how uncomfortable she is under the scrutiny. She holds her head high, though, as she explains. "Shortly before Booth was diagnosed with his brain tumor, I had asked him to be the father of my child."

 

Gordon Gordon cocks his head to the side. "You're a woman of many surprises, Dr. Brennan."

 

Bones squares her shoulders as if she were about to face an attacker. "I had decided I wanted a child, and I asked Booth if he'd be willing to provide his sperm for the purpose of artificial insemination. He agreed at first, but then reconsidered because he felt that he had to be involved in the life of a child that he had fathered."

 

"And you hadn't planned for him to be involved."

 

"No." Bones' tone softens a little when she continues. "In hindsight, I know I had no right to ask that of him – Booth is a devoted father and struggles with the fact that he doesn't get to see his son as often as he'd like, so I should have known he couldn't possibly be okay with such an arrangement. Even though we decided not to go through with the insemination, my request must have caused him considerable emotional distress, and I'm sure that's what caused his subconscious to revisit the topic during his coma."

 

"And to correct it, you mean." At her puzzled expression, Gordon Gordon clarifies, "Agent Booth didn't think that your child was the result of artificial insemination when he woke up, did he?"

 

"No, I didn't." Booth speaks up before she has to because he can see she's fighting for composure. "I was sure we were together."

 

_I'm pregnant – you're the father…_

 

"This is all my fault." She sounds so upset that Booth desperately wants to reach out and take her hand, but he has no idea how she would react to that, or what the psychologist in the room would make of it. "At the time, everyone tried to convince me that it was a crazy idea, but I didn't want to listen. I just – I just wanted to go through with it, and I never stopped to think what it would mean for Booth." She turns to face him when she adds in a self-deprecating tone that he hasn't heard from her in a very long time, "This is what happens when I go with my gut, Booth. It should never have happened, and… and I'm sorry."

 

He wants to reassure her, to tell her to stop beating herself up over this, but he can't get a word out. Instead, it's Gordon Gordon who speaks.

 

"So you no longer want to have Agent Booth's child?"

 

Booth freezes, but his shocked reaction is nothing compared to hers. "Of course not!" She seems downright horrified by the idea, and Booth feels like someone plunged a knife into his gut and twisted. "I never wanted children, and I – Angela accused me of just wanting 'a piece of him', and I never realized what she meant until…"

 

"Until?" Gordon Gordon coaxes gently, but Bones shakes her head. "This isn't why we're here, Dr. Wyatt – I'm not going to monopolize your time with problems that don't concern Booth, and I –"

 

"Tell me." Booth reaches for her hand at last; right now he doesn't care what Gordon Gordon thinks of it. "Please, Bones, just – tell me."

 

She swallows audibly, but she holds his pleading gaze, and finally she nods. "Okay."

 

She takes a deep breath, and her voice is a little steadier when she begins. "After you took such a turn for the worse a few days after your operation, when – when it seemed likely that you had suffered irreparable brain damage, and nobody knew if you'd ever regain consciousness…"

 

Booth tightens his hold on her hand, and she shoots him a grateful look before she continues, "Suddenly everybody changed their minds about me having your child, Booth – Angela, Sweets, Cam, they all encouraged me to go through with the insemination, but I could never have done it. You had given me permission to have your baby if you _died_ , but you weren't dead, you were still fighting for your life, but… they all expected me to replace you with this baby, to give up on you and content myself with having your child. I didn't understand how anyone could think that one person might be able to replace another, but then I remembered what Angela had told me, and…"

 

She stops in her tracks, as if she had remembered just in time that she'd been about to say too much. "And besides, it seemed deeply unfair to burden a child with such a legacy. I could never have done that – not even after what you said before your operation."

 

Booth feels absolutely stunned, and for once he's glad that Gordon Gordon interrupts again.

 

"A less rational person than you, Dr. Brennan, might probably have considered the timing of Agent Booth's illness rather peculiar."

 

Bones shoots him an annoyed look. "I hate psychology."

 

When Gordon Gordon merely smiles at her, she relents a little. "Nevertheless, I admit that… I found it troubling to think that I might get my wish at the cost of Booth's life. I know it was utterly irrational, because Booth's tumor must have been developing over a prolonged period of time, but it almost felt like I was –"

 

"Being punished?" Gordon Gordon suggests, and Bones gives him another dark look in reply.

 

"I'm not religious, so I don't believe in divine punishment. Besides, it doesn't make sense to me that a divine entity who's supposed to be just and loving would hurt Booth in retaliation for something that wasn't his fault, but entirely mine." She pauses for a moment and then turns to Booth to add in a completely different tone, "I did feel guilty, though."

 

"Hey." Booth's mind is reeling with the impact of everything she just admitted, but he can put it aside for the moment in the face of her obvious distress. "Stop wallowing in guilt, Bones – I'm the Catholic here, so that's my job, okay?"

 

"Okay." She gives him a watery smile and briefly squeezes his hand before letting go and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I suggest we stop talking about me now, Dr. Wyatt – we're here for Booth's sake, not for mine, after all."

 

"Of course, of course." Gordon Gordon sounds as unconcerned as if they were discussing the weather. "Would you like some more tea before we continue?"

 

+++

 

"So let's discuss your – shall we call it your 'other life', Agent Booth? 'Dream' has such a terribly esoteric ring to it."

 

Booth just shrugs; word choice really isn't his biggest concern at the moment. "Whatever."

 

"Very well then." Gordon Gordon puts his teacup on the coffee table and leans back in his chair. "From what you've mentioned so far, I gather it was a happy life?"

 

Booth chews his lower lip, carefully weighing his words. He feels Bones' gaze on him, but he can't bring himself to look at her right now. "Not all the time, but – eventually, it was."

 

"Not something you were eager to leave behind when you woke up, then."

 

The question triggers a cascade of images in his mind, and for a second, the longing ache that's always there during his waking hours becomes overwhelming. Booth has to take a deep breath before he can answer; it sounds like Bones inhales sharply too next to him, but perhaps that's just his imagination. "Definitely not."

 

"And you initially found it difficult to keep your coma experiences apart from your memories of this reality." The wording seems peculiar, and it didn't really sound like a question either, but Booth nods nevertheless.

 

"It was pretty confusing."

 

"I would imagine so. Yet you retained your memories from that other life just as clearly as if you had actually lived them?"

 

"Yeah." Booth goes back to staring at his hands. "It – I know now that it wasn't real, but it still feels that way to me. I remember most of it, I think, it's just…"

 

Gordon Gordon raises an eyebrow when Booth falls silent. "Yes?"

 

Booth thinks of those evenings when he can't find the way back, can't force his dreams to take him home because the memories keep flitting away whenever he tries to pinpoint one. "Sometimes I have trouble remembering – I mean, I can feel that it's all there in my head, but it's getting harder to focus on anything. It's like – everything's there when I don't think about it, but when I do, sometimes things get… blurry, only not really, it's just…" He falls silent, cursing his inability to come up with an explanation that will make sense without giving too much away. "Sorry, doc, I don't know how to describe it."

 

"Well, if you did, I suppose there would be no need for us to have this conversation." Gordon Gordon pauses for a while and studies a point on the ceiling with what looks like utter fascination. Booth keeps quiet in spite of his growing impatience; he knows from experience that pushing will get him absolutely nowhere.

 

At long last, Gordon Gordon gets up and walks over to one of the overflowing bookshelves that are lining the walls. He chooses a thick, leather-bound volume and holds it out towards Booth when he returns to his seat. "I have something for you."

 

"What, homework?" Booth makes a face and starts leafing through the book, but to his utter surprise, he only finds blank pages. "What am I supposed to do with an empty book?" At Gordon Gordon's enigmatic smile, he quickly adds, "If you're trying to make me start a diary, you can forget it."

 

"Charming as the idea might be, that's not what I had in mind." Gordon Gordon leans forward a bit – had he been this fidgety during their previous meetings? – and reaches across the table to tap on the empty pages of the book on Booth's knees. "What I want you to do is to start writing down every memory, every moment that you can clearly identify as belonging to your other life. Keep this book nearby at all times, and write down everything you remember, whether it seems significant or not. It doesn't matter if your entries are in any kind of order, or if they make sense to anyone but you – just try to capture as many of your memories as possible."

 

Booth gives the book a suspicious glance. "And you're going to read them?"

 

"Good gracious, no!" Gordon Gordon seems downright amused by the idea. "I'm retired, Agent Booth, remember? It is no longer my duty to disentangle the chaos in your head. Ah, don't give me that look – the human mind is by its very nature a chaotic place, and among humanity's feeble attempts to bring order into that chaos, the written word is by far the most powerful one. It may seem like a tedious and pointless exercise to you now, but I'm fairly certain that eventually you'll find yourself agreeing with me."

 

Booth keeps up his skeptical expression, but he realizes that he actually likes the idea of having a way to keep his memories safe so he will no longer need to fear that they'll be gone for good at some point. Besides, the hours he has to spend alone at Bones' apartment can get pretty long (she brought his TV over from his place, but there's only so much daytime TV a guy can watch), and until he's recovered enough to go out on his own, this might help him pass the time.

 

"Okay, fine, I'll give it a try." He closes the book and puts in on the coffee table. "But I don't need this – I own a laptop, you know."

 

"Writing longhand might actually have a beneficial effect on your physical recovery." Booth is surprised to see Bones jump at the idea – he would have her expected to scoff at it. "Remember what Miss Shaw said about training your fine motor skills? This seems like a good way to do that."

 

Gordon Gordon chuckles again. "I'm rather surprised that you, Dr. Brennan, of all people would focus on the physical when it comes to the topic of writing. You're one of the initiates who know about the magic of the written word, are you not?"

 

There's such a strange undertone to his words that Booth turns and gives Bones a questioning look. She stiffens, and he notices a slight blush creeping up her cheeks although he can't think of any reason for her to be embarrassed or uncomfortable – she's the one who always reminds everyone that she's a best-selling author, after all.

 

"Since there's no such thing as magic, there can't be anything 'magical' to the process of writing either, Dr. Wyatt. However, I agree that it could be helpful for Booth to write down his coma experiences – both for his physical _and_ for his mental recovery."

 

"Of course, of course. Dr. Brennan is quite correct, Agent Booth, which is why the process of writing is just as important as the result. There's a finality to the letters you put on paper that can't be reproduced with a computer. Virtual text is by definition just that – it's fleeting and easily changeable, and I believe you've had enough of that in your life lately."

 

The last remark hits squarely home, and it must be pretty obvious from Booth's expression because Gordon Gordon nods gravely. "Sometimes it has to be a book, Agent Booth, not files on a computer or sheets of paper that can be rearranged or torn up individually. If you tear a page out of a book, a part of the whole is lost forever, so I advise you not to attempt it. Don't censor yourself – write whatever comes to your mind, cross it out if you're not happy with it, but don't remove the evidence of an unsuccessful attempt. Don't leave out the darker parts of your memories either; perhaps you'll even find that they're easier to bear if you clothe them in words."

 

Booth swallows; at first this whole thing looked simple enough, but now it's dawning on him that it might be anything but. "I'll try."

 

"Splendid." Once more, Gordon Gordon gives Bones a look that Booth can't interpret. "And if you're unsure where to begin, I suggest that you start with a memory that had a strong impact on how you perceived your surroundings after waking up – say, the beginning of your relationship with Dr. Brennan in your other life?"

 

Booth curses himself for letting Gordon Gordon lull him into a false sense of comfort and forgetting about the man's ability to find his weakest spot and prod him just there. His mind is immediately filled with images again, but this is neither the time nor the place – not when Bones has gone pale next to him and looks like she's about to bolt from the room.

 

"We'll see, doc. Look, I think we've done enough talking for now…"

 

"I have another question." Bones' spooked expression stands in stark contrast to her calm, detached tone – her professional voice, as if they were discussing a skeleton on her table. "I assume that another goal of this exercise is to help Booth tell reality and fantasy apart." Booth winces at 'fantasy', but she's looking at Gordon Gordon and doesn't notice it. "Should I point it out to him when he mentions an event to me that didn't actually happen?"

 

Booth freezes; all those careful glances, those half-shocked, half-pitying looks that made him fear they all thought he was crazy – that has gotten better by now, hasn't it?

 

"I still do that?"

 

Bones hesitates, and even though she turns to face him, he can tell that she's trying to hide what's on her mind. When she finally answers, the detachment is gone from her voice. "All the time, Booth."

 

"Then I want you to tell me." Booth refuses to think about the implications right now; there'll be time for that later, when he doesn't have a shrink watching him like a hawk. "I _need_ you to tell me when I get something wrong, Bones, okay? Promise me!"

 

"I promise." Her answer is quick and decisive, and it makes Booth feel a little better that she doesn't wait for Gordon Gordon to state his opinion first.

 

_What's between us is ours_ , he hears his own voice speak up in his mind, and he doesn't want to ponder if he really ever said those words to her.

 

+++

 

Bones seems deep in thought when they leave Gordon Gordon's house. Booth wishes he knew what to say to her, but everything he can think of might make matters worse, so he just hides the book in the glove compartment of her car and hopes it's enough to take her mind off it.

 

He should have known better, of course.

 

After a few minutes of driving in slightly uncomfortable silence, Bones tackles the elephant in the room – or car, in this case – and asks without taking her eyes off the road, "So are you going to follow Dr. Wyatt's advice about what to write in your dream diary?"

 

"It's not a diary, Bones, okay? I'm not a pre-teen girl!" He can't bring himself to protest against the other term she used, but it's not lost on him that she didn't go with Gordon Gordon's 'other life' suggestion. "It's just a book."

 

"Fine, your _book_. Are you – I mean, it's none of my business, but I can't help wondering…"

 

"Bones, stop." It feels like they have been dancing around this issue for weeks, and even though he has no idea what he might set in motion, he knows they can't keep pretending forever that it doesn't exist. "It's very much your business, so if there's anything you want to know, just ask me, okay?"

 

"Okay." She pauses for a second, but then soldiers on. "So… you have an actual memory of you and me – getting together? I mean –"

 

"Yeah." It's not a moment he thinks of very often because in spite of the outcome, there's too much pain involved in the memory. He does remember, though, and right now the scene is so clear in his mind that it feels like it happened only yesterday.

 

Only it never happened at all.

 

Bones doesn't give him time to brood over that. "What – how did it happen? I mean, I don't want to pry, but I can see that you're struggling to deal with this, and I'm just trying to understand…"

 

When he doesn't answer immediately, she quickly adds, "It's fine if you don't want to discuss it with me. That's what the book is for, and I guess it must be difficult –"

 

"You were spending the night at my place." Booth still isn't convinced it's a good idea to tell her, but now that she's openly asking, he can't shut her out. "There was this guy I used to know, another sniper – he was coming after me, but he killed somebody close to you instead of me." He doesn't mention who it was – he'll never forget how they both knelt over the kid and tried to staunch the bleeding with their bare hands even though they knew it was pointless, and he doesn't want to dwell on it. "So I took you to my place to keep you safe…"

 

"I thought he was coming after you? Shouldn't that have been a reason to avoid your apartment?"

 

Booth shoots her a look, and she blushes a little. "Sorry – go on."

 

"You – you came into my bedroom in the middle of the night. You were so upset, Bones – I had never seen you like this, completely beside yourself, and…"

 

It's getting difficult to keep talking – not only because he's uncomfortable with the topic, but also because the images in his mind are no longer as clear as they were a moment ago, and they only get fuzzier when he tries to concentrate.

 

"…and you ended up in bed with me."

 

Bones gives him a quick glance, clearly waiting for him to continue; when he doesn't, she frowns. "You mean – at a time when we were not in a sexual relationship, I came to you for comfort, and you had intercourse with me instead? That doesn't sound like you."

 

"What? No!" Booth is utterly horrified – it didn't even occur to him that she might put such a spin on a moment that, in spite of the heartbreak surrounding it, means so much to him for more than one reason. "It was nothing like that, I mean – I'm not clear on all the details, but… I'm sure we made love that night, and – and we made a baby."

 

"Bones, I don't know, okay?" This was a bad idea, and even though he tries to keep his temper in check, Booth feels himself getting angry. Can't she understand that these memories are precious to him, that he really doesn't need her to dissect them like a corpse on an autopsy table? "It happened inside _my_ head, not yours, so it probably won't live up to your idea of logic and rationality!"

 

He immediately regrets the outburst when he sees the look on her face. She keeps her eyes on the road, but he can still see the tears shining in them. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have asked."

 

"Bones…"

 

"No, Booth, it's okay." She already has herself under control again. "I understand that this is too personal for you; I won't bring it up again."

 

It's all going completely wrong, and Booth desperately tries to think of a way to fix this mess before it gets worse. He can only hope that Gordon Gordon knew what he was doing, because so far his brilliant suggestions have only caused more problems instead of solving any.

 

Yet the thought of Gordon Gordon gives him an idea. "You know, maybe I need some time to think about this – I guess I'm not telling it right, that's why it doesn't make sense. I'll try working it out, and then I'll write it down in the book, and – if you want, you can read it."

 

She's silent until they have to stop at a red light; then she turns to face him. "You'd really be okay with that?"

 

Booth shrugs; now that they've already talked about it, he figures it doesn't make much of a difference. "Yeah, sure."

 

She gives him a tight little smile. "Thank you."

 

He doesn't see why it's such a big deal for her that she feels the need to thank him, but the tension between them has eased, and for now he's content with that.

 

+++

 

"How's it going?"

 

She's standing in the door to her study, but doesn't step closer to where he's sitting at her dining table with the book in front of him; Booth figures she doesn't want him to believe that she's trying to sneak a peek over his shoulder.

 

He closes the book with a frustrated sigh and rubs his eyes. "I suck at this, Bones."

 

"What do you mean?" She's next to him now, and for a moment he thinks she's about to place her hand on his shoulder, but she merely puts it on the back of his chair.

 

"I mean I can't get it right, not the way I want it to – I've started over three times, but it always comes out slightly wrong, like it's all in bits and pieces in my mind and I can't get the complete picture."

 

"Maybe you need a little more practice." She sits down beside him and finally reaches out to touch his arm. "You're not used to writing that kind of text, so it stands to reason that you'll find it difficult in the beginning. I had the same problem when I started writing fiction after years of only writing scientific texts. It will get better if you don't give up – why don't you go to bed now and try again tomorrow?"

 

"Yeah, you're probably right." It's only half past nine in the evening, but he feels dead on his feet. Still, he isn't eager to fall asleep – not after spending the whole evening trying to sift through the mess in his brain and to make sense of what he found there. He doesn't even want to imagine what his dreams will be like tonight.

 

He's also certain that he'll never manage to write down his memory of _that_ night in a way that he can let her read, but he doesn't have the heart to tell her right now. Today has been tough for both of them, but maybe she, at least, will be able to sleep peacefully tonight, and he doesn't want to ruin that for her.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

_Three more stairs – two – one – there._

 

Booth holds on to the handrail and tries to take a deep, steady breath that will help slow down his racing pulse a little. His knees feel like they're made of rubber, and he's sweating profusely, but that doesn't change the fact that this was the first time he managed to climb a whole story without having to take a breather. It's one of those small, hard-won victories that always leave him torn between satisfaction and unease because he still can't get used to the fact that he has landed himself in a situation where climbing a flight of stairs feels like an accomplishment.

 

Genny would berate him for getting impatient again – the whole stair-climbing exercise was her idea when he started going stir-crazy from being cooped up in Bones' apartment, but he knows she'd have his ass if she knew how hard he's been pushing himself to get a little farther each day. He hopes to be able to walk up all the way from street level to Bones' door in a week or two, and then it will finally be time to check out the gym that she showed him a while ago when she took him for one of their walks. It's a small, unpretentious place that doesn't offer much more than the absolute basics, but it's within walking distance, so he won't need Bones to drive him, and it's not a place where he's likely to run into anyone he knows. Booth is pretty sure he'd rather die than let anyone who has ever seen him at the gym before witness his current state, but he's still looking forward to the day when he can start working on getting his strength back in earnest. Genny means well with her exercises, and he can tell that they're helping, but she never lets him do enough, and his patience is wearing thin from the agonizingly slow pace of his recovery.

 

He hits the shower in Bones' guest bathroom once he's back inside the apartment, and then goes to search her refrigerator for something moderately edible. He knows it's a good sign that he feels a bit more like eating these days, but the downside is that the longing for real food instead of all that healthy stuff Bones keeps feeding him is getting stronger too. More than once, Booth has been tempted to simply order a pizza, but Genny keeps reminding him that the medication he still has to take might upset his stomach if he isn't careful with his diet, and he knows he'd never hear the end of it if he made himself sick by eating something from the no-go list that the doctors gave him when he left the hospital.

 

Besides, it's not like he has much money to spend at the moment. He's on unpaid medical leave now that he used up the last of his sick days and paid leave, and the knowledge that he's living on Bones' dime makes him cringe with embarrassment whenever she comes home with a bag full of groceries, or when the mail she brings over from his apartment miraculously doesn't contain any unpaid bills. He doesn't bring it up with her because she reacted badly the one time he tried and he doesn't want to appear ungrateful, but it keeps eating at him. He doesn't have much money saved – most of what he has put aside over the years went into Parker's college fund, and he isn't desperate enough to touch that yet, but he can only hope he'll eventually be able to pay her back once he's finally fit for work again.

 

If his health insurance keeps covering the entirety of his treatment, that is, because he'll be broke if it doesn't.

 

The thought puts another dampener on his mood while he puts yesterday's leftover lasagna in the microwave (Bones did what she could, but lasagna made with ground turkey and low-fat cheese will never taste like the real deal, no matter how many fancy spices she uses) and pours himself a glass of that mega-vitamin juice that he has to drink three times a day even though it smells like cat's pee and tastes like dishwater.

 

He loads the dishwasher after finishing his lunch – Bones has made it clear that she isn't going to clean up after him, and he's actually grateful that she isn't treating him like an invalid when it comes to stuff he _can_ do by himself.

 

A glance at the clock tells him it's only half past one; Bones told him she won't be back from work before six today (she gave him a reason, but he has already forgotten it), so he has another long, empty afternoon to fill. It's not like he has nothing to do; Genny always gives him homework that's meant to help with his cognitive functions, and even though much of it feels like it's been designed for first graders, Booth takes it seriously because he knows that his muscles aren't the only thing that needs to be in working order if he wants to meet the FBI's re-certification requirements. Besides, there are too many small incidents each day that make it evident how his brain still keeps playing tricks on him, and he finds these more unsettling that his physical weakness. He knows from experience that muscles can be rebuilt, mobility can be regained if you try hard enough, but he has no idea how long it will take until he can fully trust his mind again.

 

He refuses to consider the possibility that it might never happen, that he might never be the exact same man he was before his coma. He promised Parker that he'll get his father back, and he isn't going to break that promise. He still avoids being alone with his son when Parker comes to visit – it's not a problem since Bones is always home during the weekend, and she seems happy to keep them company since Booth managed to convince her that he _really_ wants her around during Parker's visits. He hasn't forgotten how Bones admitted during their talk with Gordon Gordon that he still keeps mixing up reality and fantasy, and he isn't going to upset Parker by making that kind of mistake in the boy's presence.

 

Unfortunately, it's not quite that simple when it comes to Bones herself. He constantly reminds himself that they're just partners, that they've never been more than that and that he mustn't scare her by making her think that he has slipped back into what Gordon Gordon calls his 'other life'. Even though it feels to him like years have passed since that time, he remembers how skittish she used to be when it came to the topic of feelings or relationships, and he knows that he can't afford making a mistake that will drive her away. It's a daily struggle not to let the woman he loves notice his feelings for her, but it's still a lot less painful than losing her completely would be.

 

And yet he can't help it that the constant proximity, the closeness that feels so utterly familiar (even though his rational mind insists it's the first time they've ever shared a living space for longer than a few days) keeps getting to him. It's the small things that slip through the cracks – he has never kissed her since that ill-fated moment at the hospital, but sometimes he finds himself reaching out to brush a strand of loose hair away from her face, or leaning into her when she's close. So far, he has always managed to catch himself in time, but he's afraid of what might happen if he ever slips up for real. He sometimes worries that he's already starting to spook her, because it seems to him that lately, she has begun to pull back a little – right after he moved in, she would sometimes touch his arm, cover his hand with hers or lean against his shoulder when they were sitting next to each other, but these casual touches are getting rarer and rarer, and he can't help wondering whether it's because of something he did, whether he has overstepped the invisible line between them without noticing it.

 

_Stop fretting, this isn't helping_. With a sigh, Booth pulls himself together and walks out of the kitchen. He's pretty tired, but he's trying to wean himself off the daytime naps (not only do they always make him feel like he belongs in a nursing home, they also tend to interfere with his ability to sleep at night, and insomnia is the last thing he needs at the moment), and he knows from experience that the fatigue will pass once he manages to concentrate on something else.

 

As he enters the living room, he almost trips over a metal dart that has lodged itself in the carpet – obviously a stray shot from yesterday's last game, and judging by the color it was one of Bones'. With a smirk, Booth picks it up and throws it at the dartboard on the door to Bones' study; he managed to win two out of three games against her yesterday evening, and rubbing it in was a lot of fun given how competitive she is in all areas of her life.

 

Figuring that he might just as well get a little extra practice time in, Booth goes to get the rest of the darts. It seems ironic that they're having so much fun with this now, considering how much he hated the dartboard when Bones first brought it home. She had bought it after hearing him complain that Genny had nixed his suggestion to let him go to the shooting range – he'd been asking himself for weeks how he would fare if he had to fire a gun now, and he figured that since he was supposed to work on getting _all_ his abilities back, that should be a part of his exercise regimen too. Genny wouldn't hear of it, though; she reminded him that as long as he wasn't fit to drive a car, he wasn't allowed to fire a gun either. When he told Bones, she got him the dartboard and insisted that it was just another kind of target practice that would allow him to work on his aim and his hand-eye coordination. Booth wouldn't even hear of it at first; he considered it the height of humiliation that she expected him to play with toys because he couldn't be trusted with a weapon. Then she challenged him to a game, and of course he understood perfectly well that she was trying to manipulate him, but he still couldn't resist.

 

He doesn't think she'll ever know how grateful he was when she didn't let him win. It should probably have alarmed him that he kept losing spectacularly for quite some time, but it was still a lot less disturbing than it would have been if she'd found it necessary to coddle him. He could tell how much it pleased her when he started getting better, but she never stopped challenging him, and she never gave him reason to believe that he hadn't deserved his victories. The first time he beat her, she high-fived him and then promised to destroy him the next time around, and he barely managed to bite his tongue to keep himself from admitting how much he loved her for it.

 

Booth throws another dart and nods when it narrowly misses the bull's eye. He has found that his aim is much better when he doesn't think about what he's doing – in the beginning, when he tried to concentrate with all his might, he could hardly even hit the board, but things got easier when he let his instincts take over. The knowledge that those instincts are still there gives him hope that the same will happen once he's finally allowed to shoot a gun again, that – no matter how long it takes – one day he'll again be the marksman he used to be and won't need Sweets to be his gun when he's in the field.

 

Wait – _Sweets_?

 

Frowning, Booth tries to trace that thought back to its origin. Sweets is a shrink who has no business in the field – but now that he thinks of it, he could swear that he remembers administering Sweet's marksmanship test himself, even if he has no idea how that could possibly have happened.

 

Cursing under his breath, Booth concentrates harder, but it doesn't help – the image is there, but he can't place it, and even though he's pretty certain it means that it's something that firmly belongs into the _other_ reality, he needs to make sure. During their latest meeting, Gordon Gordon suggested that he should ask Bones when he can't tell whether a memory is real or not, and once Bones heard about it, she not only agreed, but also told him to call her immediately if it happens during the day when she's at work.

 

He still isn't comfortable making these calls because he always feels like an idiot, but she made him promise that he would ask rather than tie his brain into knots trying to figure things out himself, so he finally gets his cell phone and calls her. She answers on the second ring, and Booth fervently hopes it means she's in her office so he won't need to worry about every squint on the platform overhearing her side of the conversation.

 

"Is everything all right, Booth?"

 

It's the first thing she asks whenever he calls, and Booth isn't sure what to make of the fact that it always sound slightly panicked.

 

"Yeah, sure, everything's okay. I just need to ask you something."

 

"Something you remembered?" She sounds calmer now although there's still a hint of apprehension.

 

"Uh, yeah – listen, Bones, this might sound strange, but does Sweets carry a gun these days?"

 

" _Sweets_?" He can almost hear her eyebrows shoot up. "Why would a psychologist need to carry a gun? I know you've threatened to shoot him before, but I always assumed that Sweets knew it was just hyperbole, and wouldn't actually feel the need to be able to defend himself."

 

Booth closes his eyes and exhales sharply; he doesn't know if he should be relieved or not. "Never mind, I just… I mean, uh, thanks, Bones."

 

"You're welcome."

 

There's a strange edge to her tone, and Booth struggles for something else to say that will ease the sudden tension. "I guess I'd better write it down."

 

"That seems like a logical conclusion. Was there anything else you needed?"

 

"Nah, I'm good. See you at six?"

 

"Maybe a little later, Mr. Bray needs me to go over another chapter of his dissertation with him, and – "

 

"Hey, it's okay. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." He meant is as a joke, but he isn't sure it came across that way.

 

Still, her tone softens. "I'll be home as soon as I can. Good-bye, Booth."

 

"Bye."

 

He stares at the phone for a moment, then walks into Bones' study. He found out pretty quickly that the dining table isn't very comfortable for writing, so she offered to let him use her desk while she's at work. Booth sits down, lowers her office chair to a more comfortable position and pulls Gordon Gordon's book out of the topmost desk drawer.

 

It doesn't take him long to note down what he remembers of Sweets' marksmanship test, but now that he's already gotten started, he figures he might just as well keep writing. He has covered a lot of ground during the last couple of weeks, but there's always more – too many memories he doesn't want to forget, too many fuzzy images that need sorting out so he can put them on paper.

 

He's glad that Bones never asked if he managed to write down his memory of their first night together, never reminded him of his promise to let her read it. He's certain that very little of what he has written so far should be read by anyone but him – but thankfully, it's a moot point because Bones always gives him space when he has the book open, and never asks any questions about it either if he doesn't bring it up himself. She did help him draw up a timeline of the last couple of years when he asked her – he had realized that he needed some kind of reference that would allow him to bring order into his memories, and to determine which ones had or hadn't really happened. She also went to his apartment for his photo albums, and searched through her own for pictures from the time they'd spent together as partners. She even asked Angela for a copy of Angela's collection of digital pictures, and Booth is still glad of that – not only because Angela has more photos of them than he and Bones combined, but also because it gives him reason to hope that Bones and Angela are okay again since he knows how important their friendship has always been to Bones.

 

Seeing the pictures of their past years together helps sorting out his memories, but it also makes him wish that he had something equally visible for that other life instead of just the images in his mind. Sometimes he wishes he were an artist like Angela so he wouldn't have to rely on words alone, but as it is, the book is his only way to keep those memories safe.

 

Booth reads over his last few entries and frowns when he realizes that they're all about moments he doesn't particularly care to remember. It's something that has begun to bother him – it turns out that his memories of the most difficult, or the unhappiest moments of that other life are much clearer than the happy ones. It frightens him to think that those times which (no matter if they've really happened or not) he considers the happiest of his life might be fading while the hard times remain firmly lodged in his mind.

 

There have been a few scenes that were immensely painful to write down – the night Bones told him no when he asked her for a chance, the day he went to say good-bye to her at the airport, the night she broke down in his car and told him she had made a mistake when she rejected him… and yet he was able to reconstruct them down to the last detail, was able to recall every word that had been spoken. The bright moments, however, those memories he keeps trying to bring back when he falls asleep at night – those are much harder to put into words. He clearly remembers the sound of Bones' voice when she told him she was pregnant, her smile when he took her to see their new house, the look on her face when she showed him the first ultrasound of their daughter – but more often than not, these moments are just tiny snippets made up of blurry images mixed with a myriad of emotions, and he doesn't have the writing skills to put these on paper in a way that even comes near the way it felt to experience them. It worries him, because pretty soon Gordon Gordon's book might be his only connection to some of his most precious memories, and he knows he'll have to do better if he wants to keep them safe.

 

Booth squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus. There was something he dreamed this morning… he had woken from another nightmare, one of those in which he wandered the hallways of an empty house that went on forever without ever leading him to the people he was desperate to find, and it had left him bewildered and disoriented. Then he heard the shower in the master bathroom, and the comfortingly familiar sounds of Bones' early morning routine lulled him into a much more peaceful sleep. His dream took him back to one of those mornings when he'd woken up with her back spooned against his chest, his arm wrapped safely around her pregnant belly and her hair tickling his face. The baby was already awake too, because he could feel the flutter of movement under his palm…

 

Smiling, Booth opens a new page and starts writing.

 

+++

 

Booth groans when his phone rings at half past five; it can only mean that Bones wants to tell him she's going to be late. Then he checks the caller I.D. and frowns as he picks up.

 

"Cam, what's the matter?"

 

"Hello to you too, Seeley." Cam sounds cheerful enough, which is a relief – for a moment, he was afraid that she was calling because something had happened to Bones. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

 

Booth lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Hello, Camille, how are you doing?"

 

"Don't call me Camille. How _are_ you doing, now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way?"

 

"Okay, I guess, given the circumstances – it's going slower than I would like, but in a little while I'll be as good as new." He does his best to keep his tone light, and to his relief, Cam either buys it or decides to let him get away with it.

 

"I'm glad to hear it. Look, the reason why I'm calling – I mean, not that I don't want to know how you've been, but…"

 

"Spit it out, Cam." He has no idea why she's beating around the bush like that; the Cam he remembers never had trouble speaking her mind.

 

"Seeley, is everything okay with Dr. Brennan?"

 

The question takes him completely by surprise. "I – yeah, I think so, I mean… I don't know why she wouldn't be…" Alarm is beginning to set in now, and it helps him focus. "I mean, having me around all the time must be pretty stressful, but she seemed fine to me when she left today. Did something happen?"

 

"No, she's safe and sound, it's just – I went to her office this afternoon, and she was alone, so I asked her how you're doing. I figured she wouldn't be comfortable discussing your health in front of everyone on the platform."

 

He's a little touched – not only because Cam takes Bones' feeling into account, but also because she's keeping tabs on him. "And what did she say?"

 

"Nothing. She burst into tears."

 

Booth finds himself momentarily speechless. The idea is too surreal – he can neither imagine Bones crying in front of Cam, nor think of a reason why she would. Interpreting his stunned silence correctly, Cam keeps talking.

 

"She had herself under control again in no time, and tried to downplay the whole thing – claimed that she'd slept badly, that she was PMSing, and some other stuff that didn't make much sense. The only thing she said about you was that you're doing better, but that you have 'trouble adjusting', whatever the hell that means. Seeley, what's going on? Should I be worried about her, about you, or about both of you?"

 

Booth still feels utterly dumbfounded. "Cam, I have no idea – I mean, I keep having some problems with… with my memory, but I'm working on it, and it's supposed to get better…"

 

He should have known he wouldn't be able to slip that by Cam. "What kind of problems?"

 

Booth's stomach clenches nervously. It looks like Cam was not on the list of people Bones decided to inform of his reality issues, but right now he wishes she had been because he has no idea what to tell her. "I had… dreams, or hallucinations, or whatever you want to call them…" – he cringes inwardly at having to use the same words he hates hearing from Bones – "during my coma, and they – they were pretty realistic, so it's sometimes difficult for me to tell them apart from my real memories."

 

"Hm." Cam ponders that for a moment. "You say it's getting better?"

 

"I'm working on it."

 

Cam sighs. "And I know that tone well enough not to hope that you'll give me any details."

 

When Booth remains stubbornly silent, she adds, "Look, I get this is difficult for you, but could you maybe keep an eye on her and see if she's really okay? She made me swear that I wouldn't mention her little outburst to you, so please don't tell her I told you, but I figured you're the only one who might be able to get through to her."

 

_I wish things were still that easy_. Booth forces himself to take a deep breath before the suffocating feeling of helplessness gets the better of him. "I'll do what I can."

 

"Okay; I'd better go now before she catches me talking to you. Take care of yourself, big guy!"

 

"Bye, Camille, and – thank you."

 

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" There's a hint of laughter in her voice, and Booth is grateful for the small moment of normalcy between them.

 

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" He realizes a split second too late that he walked into one of her favorite traps, and he mouths the words of her answer along with her.

 

"I'm a pathologist, we usually do."

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Bones hasn't said a single word since they got into the car, and Booth isn't sure how to break the silence before it becomes oppressive. He keeps watching her out of the corner of his eye; it's Sunday, so she got up later than she usually does, but she still looks tired and ill at ease. He feels rather uncomfortable himself – today's the first time he put on a suit since he left the hospital, and he hasn't worn this particular suit in years because it always was a little too tight, but now it hangs from his shoulders in a way that makes him feel like a boy in his father's clothes. He has gained a bit of weight lately, and his exercise regimen has already brought back some of the lost muscle mass, but the suit is a stark reminder that he still has a long way to go – not that he would have needed it, thanks to the dull ache in his back and thighs that is a result of yesterday's gym visit.

 

There was no way to refuse when Bones offered to give him a lift after he mentioned that he finally wanted to go to church again, but he still isn't sure if it was a good idea. She insists that she has an errand to run in the vicinity anyway, but Booth has a hard time believing it, and since his religion always used to be a touchy subject with her, he can only hope it doesn't make things even more awkward between them than they've already been lately.

 

He's been concerned about her since Cam's phone call, but no matter how hard he tries to find out what's wrong with Bones, he can't seem to get through to her. A blind man could see that she's stressed and worried, but she insists that she's fine whenever he brings it up, and the more he tries to reach out to her, the more he can feel her pull back. He knows that it's always a bad idea to push her too much, but it pains him to see her struggle with something she won't discuss or even admit. Whenever he sees the forlorn look on her face, he aches to just hug her like he would have done during the time when they could still hide behind the safe pretension of "guy hugs", and to promise her that they'll figure it out, that everything will be okay again eventually.

 

Not that he can really promise her that, of course. He still doesn't have a firm grasp on reality; true to her word, Bones corrects him whenever he slips up, but it troubles him deeply that it's still happening with such frequency. A word, a look, the flash of an image that feels familiar is sometimes enough to send his mind down the wrong path, and he never seems to realize it in time before Bones, expression carefully impassive, has to tell him _again_ that the stuff he's talking about never happened.

 

The book Gordon Gordon gave him is filling up much faster than Booth would ever have expected. More than half of the formerly blank pages are now full of detailed memories mixed with half-remembered snippets and impressions that make little sense, and that he can never describe in a way which really seems to fit the images in his head. They are also a mess of crossed-out paragraphs, false starts and additions that have been scribbled between the lines, and the fact that his handwriting still isn't up to his pre-coma standard (not that it was exactly copperplate back then) adds to the chaotic appearance of the pages that probably make for a pretty accurate representation of his current state of mind.

 

Even though his most precious moments are safely stored in the book now, he still has trouble returning to the world in his head when another long, exhausting day is over and he's finally ready to allow himself a few hours of respite. All too often, he lies awake at night and tries to concentrate on something that will take him back to that other, happier life, but it's getting harder and harder to find the way home, and it frightens him to think that someday soon he might no longer find it at all. His attempts to move the story forward, to conjure a continuation to the life that was cut short when he woke up in the hospital, aren't very successful – even as a child, he never had much talent for fantasy and make-believe, and now his imagination isn't able to create anything that feels as real as his memories do. Building on his memory of Bones during the final weeks of her pregnancy, he has tried a hundred times to imagine the birth of their child, but everything he comes up with feels tacky and wrong, and the scenarios get more and more outlandish the harder he tries. He pictures her with their baby girl nursing on her breast, or with her arm around Parker (he still isn't over the fact that there was so little of Parker in that other reality) as all three of them bend over the crib in the nursery with soft, awed smiles on their faces, but as much as he wants it to, it never feels real, and the futile attempts leave him frustrated and homesick.

 

Instead of the dreams that elude him, the nightmares are getting more frequent; almost every other night he wakes up sweaty and shaken with the shadow of a vague, ever-present threat in his mind. The scenarios vary, and most of them are too nebulous to remember them once he wakes up, but he's always alone in the cold, empty shell of a place that once was his home, desperately trying to find his way back to something – someone – he lost even though he knows deep in his heart that it's hopeless.

 

He hasn't mentioned the nightmares to anyone since the day Bones pulled him out of one at his apartment – they hardly seem important enough to bring them up during his meetings with Gordon Gordon, and Bones really doesn't need another reason to worry about him. Booth casts another sidelong glance at the dark smudges under her eyes and the little crease between her eyebrows, and he has to clamp down hard on the yearning to touch her, to prove to her and to himself that the connection between them is still there. He keeps cursing Gordon Gordon for making Bones witness a discussion of their relationship in that other life, and her horrified declaration that she no longer wants to have his child keeps replaying itself in his mind whenever he tries to remember the glowing radiance of her pregnancy. Now she's driving him to the old parish church where he used to go to Mass before his tumor, and he almost wishes that she'd start taking potshots at his beliefs again – not only would it bring back a shred of the former normalcy between them, it would also be a safer topic of conversation than most other things that come to his mind right now.

 

At long last, it's Bones who breaks the silence. "When would you like me to pick you up?"

 

Booth hesitates. "Um, two hours should do – the service lasts for about an hour, and I'd like to go to confession, and maybe have a bit of time after." He has found it difficult to pray ever since he woke up from his coma; he can recite the words, but so far he's been waiting in vain for the inner peace they brought before. It's not the first time in his life it has happened, and he isn't afraid that he might lose his faith, but he hopes that attending Mass and having some quiet time to himself in the church afterwards will make it easier to talk to God like he used to.

 

"Okay, then I'll be back at half past eleven."

 

Booth hesitates; he remembers the request she once made, and maybe this is the time to prove to her that things have changed between them since then. "Look, if you'd like to come with me –"

 

She shakes her head before he can continue. "It's okay, Booth – I know that you're not comfortable with me in ecclesiastical surroundings, and I wouldn't want to impose. Besides, I've got something to do in the neighborhood."

 

He wants to ask for details, and it looks like she's bracing herself for just that, which already tells him she isn't going to answer. The silence that settles between them once more is thick with tension, and even though it feels a little morbid, Booth suddenly feels compelled to ask the question that popped into his mind when she rebuffed his offer.

 

"Bones, when things started going south after my surgery" – she tenses, but now that he has opened this can of worms, he can only keep going – "did I get the last rites?"

 

"Yes." Her tone is clinical, and she's careful to keep her eyes on the road. "I wouldn't have thought of it, but Cam reminded me that it's something you would want, so I arranged it."

 

He should probably let it go, but he's honestly curious now. "Who did you get? I mean, did the hospital…"

 

"I assumed that you would prefer a priest you knew, but since I wasn't sure which church you usually attend, I tried to contact Father Matt – you remember him, Father Matt Sands from that case with the murdered priest two and a half years ago?"

 

"Yeah, sure." He remembers the case, although it feels like it's been much longer than two and a half years – it was right after she let Sully sail off into the sunset, and God, that seems to have happened a lifetime ago.

 

For some reason, she relaxes a little at his answer. "I was told that he had been transferred to a parish outside DC, and I hesitated to contact the old priest – Father Donlan – because I doubted that he would be open to a request coming from me."

 

Booth is tempted to remind her that no priest would refuse a dying man the last rites just because he was pissed off at the person asking him, but he thinks better of it. "So who did you get instead?"

 

"I called Steve."

 

Booth has to rack his brain for a while before he manages to figure out the implications of what she just said. "You called the _archbishop of DC_?"

 

"He was the only other Catholic priest I knew!"

 

"Wow." It takes Booth a moment to wrap his mind around that idea. "And he actually sent someone?"

 

"He came himself." At his disbelieving stare, she adds, a tad defensive, "I reminded him that he owes you for finding the murderer of his Vicar General, and he had to concede that it was only fair."

 

Booth feels his jaw drop. He doesn't doubt for a moment that she's telling the truth, but it sounds like such a Bones thing to do that he almost starts to laugh… until he remembers how that particular case ended. He hasn't thought of Zack in years – or it feels like he hasn't, but the flicker of pain he can see in Bones' eyes is a harsh reminder that to her, the memory is all too recent.

 

He doesn't feel like laughing any more when he imagines Bones bullying Archbishop Wallace into administering a rite that means nothing to her because she didn't want a stranger attending to him, at a time when she felt like she was the only one fighting for his life while the people she considers her family wanted her to let him die. The need to reach out and touch her suddenly becomes almost overwhelming.

 

He tries to come up with something else to say to gloss over the moment. "Were you… there?"

 

"No." They've reached his parish church now, and the search for a free parking space gives her a reason not to look at him. "Considering my stance on the topic of religion, I assumed you wouldn't want me to be present."

 

Booth takes a deep breath and knows that he has to do something because he can't take it anymore. She's done parking the car, so she'll have to face him now, and he _needs_ to reassure her that he never meant to cut her out of any part of his life, no matter how much they disagree about it.

 

"Bones." To his relief, she doesn't pull away when he puts his hand on her arm, and she turns towards him even though her expression is guarded.

 

"Yes?"

 

"I'd really like you to come to Mass with me. Only if you want, of course, but – I'd like it."

 

A shadow of something – dismay, grief, fear? – flashes across her face, but it's gone before he can identify it. She's looking at him, _really_ looking at him for what feels like the first time in ages, and her tone is gentle when she replies.

 

"Booth, I – I appreciate that, but we're not far from the psychiatric hospital where Zack is currently… being treated, and they've got visiting hours until noon on Sundays, so I promised him I'd come to see him."

 

That brings him up short; again, it seems strange to think of Zack as somebody who's still a part of the present because it feels like he has been gone from their lives for ages, and it never even occurred to him that Bones might still be in contact with her former protégé. "You do that a lot?"

 

"Whenever I can. I know the others do too, although I think Hodgins visits the most." The sadness in her eyes is impossible to miss now, and Booth tightens his hand around her arm and once more wishes he could just hug her.

 

He isn't entirely happy with the idea that has just popped up in his mind because it feels weird, and even a little disturbing, to imagine seeing Zack again – more than anything else lately, it's like preparing to travel back in time and meet someone from a life that's past. Yet it's the only thing he can think of right now to bridge the gap he feels between himself and Bones, so he goes with his gut.

 

"Then perhaps – next time I could go to the early morning Mass, and you could come with me, and then we could go see Zack together?"

 

Her smile lights up her careworn features in a way that brings a lump to his throat; for a second, the awkward distance between them is forgotten, and she's _his_ Bones, the woman he loves and wants to keep safe from everything that might cause her pain.

 

"I would like that."

 

"Then it's a date." He meant it as a lighthearted reassurance, and he realizes too late how unfortunate the wording was, but she lets it pass.

 

"I'll be back to pick you up at half past eleven."

 

"I'll see you then." The urge to kiss her good-bye is almost irresistible, and Booth presses his lips together and hastily turns to get out of the car when her hand on _his_ arm stops him.

 

"Booth?"

 

He turns around again to find that her expression has changed completely; instead of the façade of clinical calm he's gotten used to seeing, her face is open and so hopeful that it makes his breath catch in his throat.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Would you – I mean, everyone at the lab keeps asking about you, so would you perhaps like to come visit sometime? They… _we_ all miss you at the Jeffersonian."

 

Booth feels his stomach clench with a sudden attack of nerves, but right now he would promise to pluck the moon from the sky for her if she asked him to, so he tries to keep his tone light.

 

"Yeah, sure, why not? It's been far too long since I've seen any decomposing bodies."

 

She grins as she backs out of the parking space, and Booth stares after her car until he loses sight of it in the distance.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

"Are you okay?"

 

Booth almost chokes on his coffee (not that this low-caf shit deserves the name) at the unexpected question. The intensity of Bones' gaze makes him squirm; he feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he can only hope he isn't blushing.

 

"Just peachy, why do you ask?"

 

She's looking at him as if he were a bone for her to examine. "You seem preoccupied, and you've barely touched your breakfast. Is your stomach troubling you again?"

 

"Bones, I said I'm _fine_." He shoves a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth to prove his point, but she still doesn't let up.

 

"Booth, if you're having second thoughts about coming to the lab with me…"

 

"What? No, of course not!" God, can't she just let it go? "I'm not going to stand up my squints."

 

That finally brings a smile to her face, and Booth relaxes a little as she turns her attention back to her super-organic cereal that still looks like birdseed to him. The truth is that the idea of setting foot into the lab again does make him a little uneasy, but it's not what's been making it difficult to look her in the eye this morning.

 

_"Do you love me?" – "Yeah. Do you want me to prove it to you?"_

 

He has no idea where the dream came from – he has never had it before, and the scene didn't look familiar, but maybe that's just because it was mostly undefined, a sequence of intense sensations rather than actual images. Her hands on him, her skin against his, her warm, soft body underneath him… he woke with the taste of her still on his lips, and he didn't even notice at first that he already had his hand down his boxers because he was achingly hard and desperate to keep feeling her, to bury himself in her until they were lost in each other. He kept his eyes shut as if that could hold on to the dream as he fisted himself with quick, hard strokes, but the image that finally made him come all over his fingers was neither a dream, nor the memory of another life; it was _her_ , looking just like she did yesterday evening before she went to bed.

 

It's not nearly the first time he has rubbed one out to fantasies of her (that would have been the tequila-soaked night she left him standing at the curb outside a pool hall), even though he always felt slightly guilty afterwards once they became partners. This is different, though – and not only because it was the first wet dream he has had since the coma. He has tried before to bring back his memories of making love to her, but he never got more than blurry images and vague sensations that were more comfortable than erotic. The doctors had told him that it would take a while until his nether regions were back in working order, so he didn't worry too much about it in the beginning – but it's not like the constant, intimate proximity to the woman he has loved and wanted for so long isn't having an effect on him. Being around her all the time without ever being able to touch her is becoming more and more frustrating, and he's forced to take care of the problem with growing frequency.

 

Yet those attempts to take the edge off are never fully successful – not because his body isn't cooperating (to his great relief, there seems to be no lasting damage in that department), but because his mind keeps playing tricks on him. He does his best to focus on what little he remembers of their lovemaking when he's standing in the shower with his hand around his cock, but all too often, his traitorous brain presents him with other, much more recent images when he's getting close. That way lies madness, though – it was one thing to fantasize about her when they were nothing but partners, but now that he has gotten a taste of what it means to have her in his arms every night, he doesn't know how he's supposed to live with the fact that it can never happen again if he keeps seeing her – _her_ , not a memory or a dream of her – whenever the impending orgasm breaks through his defenses.

 

It's one of the things he keeps struggling with during his waking hours, but until this morning, it had never invaded his dreams, and he has no idea how to deal with the fact that she's everywhere now, that there's no place left where he's safe from a temptation that might push her out of his life for good if he ever gives in to it.

 

He realizes too late that he has zoned out again when she has to repeat the question she just asked him.

 

"Booth? Aren't you going to finish your oatmeal?"

 

"Uh… no, I think I'm done." He pushes the bowl away; it's still half-full, and he knows it'll make her worry again, but food is the last thing on his mind right now.

 

Angling for a bit of levity that will hopefully hide how out of sorts he feels, he flashes her a grin and reaches across the table to give her a playful poke in the shoulder. "Let's go squint-seeing, Bones."

 

+++

 

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

 

Booth feels like turning on his heel and walking – or running, if he has to – away from the sterile chrome-and-glass splendor of the lab as soon as he hears the swish of the automatic doors closing behind him, and if it weren't for Bones' hand on his arm, he probably would. Once again, he struggles with the feeling of having traveled backwards in time, of stepping into a part of his life that doesn't belong into the present any more. His rational mind knows that it's only been a few months since his last visit to the lab, but it feels like it's been much, much longer, and the only thing he can think of as his eyes scan the platform is a boy bleeding out on the floor right under his hands. Without thinking, he glances up at the glass dome above him – he half expects to still see it cracked and splintered from the bullet that passed though it, and even though the dome is whole and unmarred, he can almost see the glitter of glass shards covering the platform like a macabre parody of the year's first snowfall.

 

"Is everything okay?"

 

He keeps forgetting how well she's able to read him, and he has to fight the urge to pull his arm out of her tightening grip at the concerned tone of her question. "I'm fine, Bones, it's just – it feels like forever since I've last been here."

 

He hopes that such a neutral statement will get her to let the matter be, but instead it causes the ever-present crease between her eyebrows to deepen.

 

"You didn't come to the lab during…"

 

She doesn't finish the question, but lapses into awkward silence instead; it seems that she still hasn't found a label for his coma experiences that she's comfortable with.

 

_I was here when I almost got you killed._ He doesn't say that out loud, of course; it's not something he thinks he should burden her with. Instead, he just shakes his head. "I must have, I guess, but… I don't really remember any details." It's a blatant lie, and he doesn't like her crestfallen expression at hearing it, but he really can't go there right now, not when Cam and Hodgins have spotted them from the platform and are moving towards them with matching grins on their faces.

 

For a moment, he clings to the hope that he won't have to set foot on the platform after all, but then Cam and Hodgins come to a halt on top of the stairs and wait for Bones to scan her access card, and since she still hasn't let go of his arm, Booth has no other choice but to let her drag him along if he doesn't want to cause a scene.

 

"About damn time you showed your face around here again, big guy!" Cam's arms around him are surprisingly gentle considering the enthusiastic tone of her greeting, and for a second, Booth leans into the embrace and experiences the same flash of gratitude he felt with Rebecca at the hospital – gratitude for the reassuring certainty that all the good times he remembers sharing with _her_ were real.

 

"Hey, man, how are you doing?" Hodgins, too, is beaming, but thankfully he refrains from hugging Booth and limits himself to a clap on the shoulder. "The lab hasn't been the same without you breathing down our necks!"

 

The warning glares that both Bones and Cam shoot the bug guy aren't lost on Booth, and he does his best to gloss over the tense moment. "Just a little bit longer, and I'll be back to kick your ass, Hodgins."

 

Hodgins' grin widens. "Glad to see you're back on your feet, G-man."

 

"Dr. Brennan, could you come to my office for a moment? I need to go over some details of your project funding with you." Cam gives Booth a look he can't interpret when Bones just nods and walks away from the group without so much as a word to anyone. "You boys play nicely until we're back."

 

It feels a little too much like a staged exit to Booth, and Hodgins confirms it when he asks a bit too casually as soon as the two women are out of earshot, "So how's it going? Dr. B says you're getting better, but she isn't very forthcoming with the details."

 

"That's because you guys have no business sticking your squinty noses into my health issues," Booth reminds him good-naturedly; the reassurance that Bones didn't share any embarrassing details with the Squint Squad makes him feel a lot better about the prospect of a chat with Hodgins. "But yes, I'm getting better. Slower than I'd like, but in a few months' time I should be as good as new."

 

"Glad to hear it." Hodgins sits down on the edge of his work station and indicates for Booth to take his chair. "No more memory issues, then?"

 

The question blindsides Booth completely; how on earth does Hodgins know about that if Bones kept her mouth shut?

 

"Hey, give me a little credit." Hodgins keeps his tone light, almost teasing, but Booth can tell that there's more to it. "When Cam and I came to see you a few days after you woke up, you asked me about Angela and babysitting, so it didn't take a genius to figure out that you might have gotten a few wires crossed in your brain."

 

Somehow, Booth can't help finding Hodgins' bluntness downright comforting – maybe it's bound to happen when you spend too much time in the company of Temperance Brennan. "I'm told that's hardly uncommon when you've been out for as long as I have."

 

"Not as far as I know, no. So, care to share what that question was about?"

 

Booth sighs; he knows better than to expect a nosy squint to let go of a topic that has piqued his interest. "If you absolutely have to know, I woke up thinking that you and Angela are married and have a son."

 

He doesn't add that a part of his mind _still_ keeps believing it, that his first impulse upon seeing Hodgins was to ask him how the little one was doing, and that the bug guy's ring-less left hand still looks wrong to him. Thankfully, Hodgins doesn't seem to notice; for the first time since they started talking, he averts his eyes and begins to fiddle with one of the empty Petri dishes that clutter his workstation.

 

"Yeah, it doesn't look like _that's_ ever going to happen."

 

The wistful tone leaves Booth with a strange feeling of kinship. Here's another guy who's mourning the death of a dream, who has to live with the fact that the happy future he saw ahead of him fell apart before his eyes, and he knows only too well how hard it can be to deal with that.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Hodgins seems taken aback by the seriousness of Booth's tone, but then he shrugs. "Hey, these things happen. At least we can work together again without going awkward and super-formal around each other, so I guess that's something."

 

There isn't anything Booth feels he can say to that. "Where is she, anyway?"

 

Hodgins gives him a strange look. "Hiding in her office would be my guess."

 

"Hiding from what?" Booth's honest bafflement must show on his face, because Hodgins' oh-come-on expression slowly morphs into one of resignation.

 

"From you, man – given how mad Dr. B still is at her, she probably doesn't want to find out how _you_ feel about the whole thing."

 

"But I thought she and Bones made up?" Booth really doesn't want to consider the alternative; he was so sure everything was all right again between Bones and her best friend…

 

Hodgins shrugs again. "They're talking to each other, if that's what you mean, but as far as I know that's pretty much it."

 

"Damn." Booth ponders this unexpected turn for a moment. "Are you sure she's in her office?"

 

"Yeah, but –" Hodgins hesitates, but then squares his shoulders and continues. "Look, I get that this is a really shitty situation all around, but you're not going to give her a hard time, are you? It's been difficult enough for her with –"

 

"I won't." Once more, Booth can relate – losing the woman you love doesn't mean you stop looking out for her. "I just want to talk to her; maybe I can help smooth things over between her and Bones."

 

Hodgins sighs. "Good luck with that, man."

 

+++

 

"Hi, Angela."

 

Angela does a double-take at the sound of Booth's voice and almost drops the sketch she's working on. Her eyes go wide when she sees him standing in the open door to her office, but she doesn't make a sound, so Booth finally walks in uninvited. The office looks different than he remembers, but he doesn't have time for that now – not when Angela is staring at him like he's about to escort her to her own execution.

 

At long last, she finds her voice. "Booth, I – I didn't know you were here, I mean, I knew, but…"

 

"Hey." Taking pity on her, Booth steps closer and opens his arms in a clear invitation. "It's good to see you again, Ange."

 

She flushes bright red, and her eyes fill with tears; in the next second, her arms are around him, and he feels her shake with suppressed sobs.

 

"God, Booth, I'm so happy to see you again – and I'm so, so sorry, I just didn't know what else to do, and I know what you must be thinking, but I –"

 

"It's okay." It takes a moment for the reassurance to register with her, and even though she can finally bring herself to look at him, it's obvious to him that she still expects him to start yelling at her any moment. "I'm not mad at you, all right? No need to wall yourself up in here hiding from me."

 

Angela sniffs and wipes her eyes, hopelessly smearing her mascara in the process, but to Booth's relief, she finally calms down and lets go of him. "Seriously?"

 

"Yeah, sure. You got a minute?"

 

"Of course." She hastily pulls up a chair for him – everybody in this place seems desperate to keep him off his feet, Booth can't help thinking – and then perches on the edge of her desk in a way that's eerily reminiscent of Hodgins just a few minutes earlier.

 

An awkward silence settles between them, and Booth knows it will be up to him to break the ice. "Listen, Ange, I really mean it – you did what you thought was best when you told Bones to let me go, and you don't have to feel guilty about it; I'm pretty sure I'd rather be dead than spend the rest of my life as a vegetable. You were trying to do the right thing for me, and –"

 

"I wasn't." The admission looks like it costs her some effort, but she keeps talking nevertheless. "Booth, you know that I care a great deal about you, and I can't tell you how happy as I am to see you alive and healthy, but… at the time, I didn't give a damn about what you would have wanted. I told Bren to let you go because I couldn't watch _her_ suffer any longer."

 

At his stunned silence, she continues, even though she's fighting tears again. "You have no idea what it did to her to hear that initial diagnosis – to stare at you through a glass window in the ICU for days on end because they wouldn't let her in the room with you, to see you hooked up to machines that kept you breathing and your heart beating… she was there during the worst of the seizures, and she had to witness it all without being able to do anything to help you. She refused to give up, but it was _killing_ her, Booth, and – I just couldn't stand by and watch it any more. It could have gone on for months, maybe even years, and… she would never have let herself stop hoping even though the doctors thought there was no hope, and I couldn't let her go through that."

 

Booth feels like someone punched him in the gut. He always knew that his coma must have been a waking nightmare for Bones, but knowing it isn't the same as hearing a first-hand account from somebody as close to her as Angela used to be. He can't keep himself from imagining what it would have meant for him to see _her_ in such a state, and the mere thought makes him feel like he can't breathe.

 

It takes him a while until he's able to focus on Angela again, but once he begins to grasp the magnitude of what she just told him, he realizes that he _needs_ to make her understand how grateful he is for what she tried to do for Bones. The words won't come, though – nothing he could say seems to be enough, and on an impulse, he gets up, raises her hands to his lips and kisses them.

 

"Bones is lucky to have a friend like you."

 

She gives him a watery smile, and he can only hope that she gets what he's trying to say.

 

"She doesn't see it that way."

 

Booth winces. "I know, but –"

 

"No, I don't think you do." She' still smiling, but the sadness in her eyes is unmistakable. "To her, what I did was the ultimate betrayal. She trusted me to stand by her in her fight to keep you alive, and instead I told her to give up on you. I've tried many times to explain to her why I did it, but she doesn't care – not when it was your life that was at stake, because to her it was the only thing that mattered." She wipes her eyes again and adds, almost like an afterthought, "You know, a lioness defending her cubs has nothing on Bren when it comes to you."

 

"But…" Booth's mind is reeling, and he has trouble coming up with a coherent response. "Things are getting better between you, aren't they? I mean, she's talking to you again…"

 

"Yeah, sure." Angela shrugs, a little wistfully. "We talk, and we're polite, and sometimes we even laugh, but there's a line I can't cross any more. We used to talk about almost everything, but now she'll only let me in so far, especially where you are concerned. Look, Booth" – she takes a step closer and places her hand on his arm – "I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but you'll look out for her, won't you? She'll try to be strong for you, but those past months have been hell for her too, and you're the only one who can still get through to her."

 

Her words sound eerily familiar – Cam told him the same thing just a few weeks ago, and Booth feels an odd pang of longing for a time when he, too, used to be a part of the tightly knit family of misfits that is the Squint Squad. He knows Bones can't see it right now, but he's grateful that there are people who care about her well-being and try to keep her safe because these days, he feels woefully inadequate in that regard.

 

"I'll do what I can."

 

"I know you will." Angela squeezes his arm and then gives him a little shove towards the door. "I should take you back to the others now, they won't be happy if I monopolize you for too long."

 

+++

 

Booth is about to follow Angela onto the platform when a voice stops him in his tracks.

 

"Agent Booth! It's so good to see you again!"

 

Booth turns around and freezes at the sight of Vincent Nigel-Murray rushing out of the Ookey room with a beaming smile on his face.

 

His mind goes blank; he can only stare at Vincent, who has grabbed Booth's hand and keeps shaking it while he babbles at break-neck speed. Booth doesn't hear a word of what he's saying. He feels like he has gone deaf from the sound of the glass dome bursting into a million shards because of a shot that nobody heard, nobody saw coming; instead of Vincent's excited chatter, he hears Bones begging him to keep pressure on the wound even though they both know that it's too late, that nobody can survive an injury like that, and he keeps wiping his free hand on his jeans without really noticing it because he's desperate to get rid of the blood sticking to it.

 

Then Bones is by his side, gently disentangling him from Vincent's enthusiastic grip, and reality begins to seep in again. Cam is there too, and Hodgins with Angela by his side, and Booth briefly wonders what Vincent thinks of the fact that they named their child after him – and then Cam says something about the five of them going for brunch to celebrate the occasion, and he hastily follows the gaggle of squints out of the lab because he needs to get away from the place before he loses his mind.

 

+++

 

Booth is deeply grateful that the diner looks just like he remembers it. His mind is still reeling from the unexpected encounter with a boy he saw die right before his eyes, but now that he's out of the lab, the familiar surroundings of the diner make it easier to focus, and he slowly feels his pulse returning to a normal rate when he finds himself squeezed in between Bones and Cam at the crowded table.

 

He can tell that Bones noticed something; she keeps watching him out of the corner of her eyes, and he remembers what Angela told him and does his best to pull himself together. She begins to relax when he starts arguing with her whether a side order of fries would be a breach of his doctors' orders, and he can even coax a smile out of her when he reminds her that he'll only get to eat half of it anyway because she's going to steal the rest.

 

He pushes the plate of fries towards her as soon as their food is served, and it's the first thing that feels blessedly, gloriously normal in the middle of this mess of a day. The squints are probably making an effort for his sake, because a casual observer would never be able to tell how much residual tension there seems to be between Bones and Angela, and probably between Angela and Hodgins as well. For a while, Booth is almost able to fool himself into believing that things have really gone back to normal, that he's a part of this family like he used to be, but then Hodgins mentions something Vincent did the other day and sends Angela, Cam, and even Bones into fits of laughter, while Booth feels the familiar churning of wrongness in the pit of his stomach that forces him to remember this isn't his life any more, that what used to be Bones' _and_ his world is now firmly hers alone because he has no part in it.

 

He listens to Hodgins arguing with Cam about some experiment that damaged a piece of rather expensive lab equipment, and he can't help wondering if he's ever really going to get his life back, if there will be a time when he doesn't feel like he's acting out scenes from a script that has been torn up and glued together in the wrong order, and with several pages missing.

 

Booth knows Bones was hoping that this visit would help him readjust to what used to be their reality, but right now he feels farther removed from it than he has in a long time.

 

+++

 

Dinner is a quiet affair that evening. Booth hasn't been alone with Bones since the morning – after they left the diner, he asked Angela to drive him home in an attempt to prove that he really holds no grudge against her, but now that he sees Bones picking at her food with her eyes firmly on her plate, he can't help thinking that it might have been a mistake. He's racking his brain for a way to bring up the issue without making matters worse, but he still feels pretty shaken from the unexpected encounter with Vincent, and he can't seem to get his thoughts in order.

 

"Was he the one who got killed?"

 

Her question startles him so much that he almost drops his fork. "What – who are you talking about?"

 

Bones pushes her plate away and finally meets his gaze. "Mr. Nigel-Murray – when you saw him today, you reacted as if… I believe the appropriate colloquialism is 'as if you'd seen a ghost', even though there's no such thing as ghosts. I didn't understand your reaction at first, but then I remembered what you told me of… of how the death of someone close to me affected me so much that –"

 

"Yeah." For some reason, it seems terribly important not to let her finish that sentence. "I know it wasn't real, but I _remember_ , Bones – I remember the kid bleeding out right under my hands, and when I saw him today…"

 

"I understand." The calm façade is firmly back in place; her expression tells him nothing of what might be going through her mind. "You should write it down in your book."

 

Booth nods glumly. He has shied away from tackling that specific memory until now – during all his attempts to write down what he remembers of their first night together, he always left out how they got to that place in the first time, but he figures there's no way around it any more now if he doesn't want to freak out every time he runs into Vincent at the lab when he can finally go back to work.

 

_If_ he can ever go back.

 

"I probably should."

 

"You can use my study; there are a few articles I'm planning to read tonight, and I can do that on the couch."

 

She gets up and starts clearing away the dishes, but now that they're finally talking again, there's something else he feels he should bring up. "Bones, wait – about Angela…"

 

"Don't." She doesn't sound angry when she cuts him off, merely tired and resigned, but she disappears into the kitchen before he can get another word in. Booth exhales sharply and suppresses the urge to just let it go, to stop making things more difficult between them – he knows what their friendship used to mean to Bones and Angela, and since he's the reason for their falling out, he owes it to both of them to at least make an effort.

 

Bones is busy loading the dishwasher and doesn't look up when he follows her into the kitchen.

 

"Look, Bones, I'm not trying to stick my nose into your business, and I get that you're mad at her, but… maybe you could at least try to look at the matter from her perspective for a moment?"

 

"Maybe you could try looking at it from mine."

 

With that clipped reply, she sweeps out of the kitchen and leaves him staring after her because he's suddenly asking himself how he would have reacted if it had been Bones' life that was hanging in the balance, and Angela had tried to convince _him_ that he should let her die because it would be easier for him to handle.

 

She's on the sofa with her nose in a magazine when he finally comes out of the kitchen, and Booth quietly makes his way to her study so he won't disturb her.

 

+++

 

He wonders if Jake Broadsky – wherever he may be these days – feels somebody walking over his grave tonight.

 

Putting his memories of Vincent's shooting into words was among the most difficult things he has had to do since he woke up from the coma, and it spite of Gordon Gordon's theories, it didn't banish the images in his head – on the contrary, they've been replaying themselves in his head in a constant loop ever since he closed the book and went to bed. It's past midnight, and he's so tired that he's beginning to shake, but at the same time he's terrified of falling asleep because he doesn't even want to imagine what his dreams will be like if he does.

 

He tries to cling to the memory of Vincent, alive and well, shaking his hand and talking a mile a minute just this morning, but it doesn't help, his mind keeps overwriting it with the image of the life fading from the kid's eyes as he begged a God he didn't believe in to let him stay a little bit longer. Booth has heard too many such pleas in his life, but this is one he doesn't know how to deal with – because even as he watched Vincent slip away, all he could think of was how easily it could have been _her_ instead.

 

It was him Jake was after – it should have been his blood on the cold, sterile floor of the lab, and even as he desperately tries to keep pressure on the bullet hole in her chest, he knows that nothing, _nothing_ will ever absolve him from the sin that cost her her life. Her voice is ringing in his ears, and even though he can't make out the words he knows that she's begging him not to let her fade into darkness and oblivion, but there's nothing he can do to save her, no matter how hard he tries, and he knows that his punishment will be a life he'll have to live without her, and that it's nothing more than he deserves.

 

The empty rooms of their home seem to mock him in their familiarity, but now there's danger lurking in the shadows, and the one who brought the place to life, who filled it with light and love and the hope of a brighter future, has disappeared into a darkness that is never going to release her. He wanders the echoing hallways and calls her name until his voice is rough and hoarse, but the only answer is the faint sound of mocking laughter in the distance. He should have been the one to shield her from danger, to keep her safe from everything that could ever harm her, but he was too weak, to slow, too inept to live up to the faith she put in him. He watches her walk away from him without looking back and knows without a doubt that he'll never see her again, that she'll be lost to him forever if he lets her walk out the door, but he can't move, can't even find his voice when he tries to call out to her, and the sound of the door falling shut behind her reverberates in his mind like the bang of a judge's gavel.

 

Booth sits bolt upright in bed; he's drenched in sweat, and his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he isn't sure at first whether he really heard the bang outside his bedroom door or merely dreamed it – but then the sounds of soft, blessedly familiar footfalls filter through the turmoil in his mind.

 

He flops back into the pillows and draws a deep, shaky breath. Just a nightmare… it was just a nightmare, and Bones is right outside, alive and well and – Booth frowns as the numbers on his alarm clock register with him – puttering around in the apartment at a quarter to five in the morning?

 

Something is tugging at the back of his mind, but it's too weak and indistinct to pinpoint, and he pushes it aside in favor of the more urgent question why Bones got up at such an ungodly hour. She's an early riser, but not this early, and now that she's not working FBI cases any more, there should be no reason for her to be up… unless something is wrong.

 

Booth is on his feet and out of the room in a matter of seconds. "Bones, what's going on?"

 

He freezes when he takes in the scene before him; she's standing in the middle of the living room in her Jeffersonian coverall and seems almost finished putting her field kit together. His entrance startled her, but she rallies quickly. "I'm sorry I woke you – I was taking something out of the cupboard in the hallway, and the door handle slipped out of my grip…"

 

Booth isn't really listening; he's still breathing hard, and the remnants of the nightmare have yet to fade from his mind. "What are you _doing_?"

 

She zips her bag shut and straightens. "Cam just called; there was an explosion in a public housing complex in Washington Highlands. Parts of the building have collapsed or were on fire, but that's under control, and the survivors are being taken care of. There are a lot of casualties, and several inhabitants are still missing. The Jeffersonian was called in to help recover and identify the victims."

 

"But… you said you aren't working cases any more!"

 

"This has nothing to do with the FBI – it's simply too big for local authorities to handle, so we were asked to help."

 

Booth struggles against the rising panic that's threatening to choke him. "Then Clark should be the one to handle it! He's the one doing fieldwork now, right?"

 

She shakes her head. "Clark can't do it alone – Cam said we need 'all hands on deck' for this, and I really have to go now."

 

"Bones, wait." He realizes he's beginning to sound as panicked as he feels, but there's nothing he can do about that. "What kind of explosion? I mean – "

 

"Most likely a gas leak. The firefighters have it under control, Booth, so there's no need to –"

 

"Aren't you the one who always tells me not to jump to conclusions? That's a really bad neighborhood, so the chances that the real reason was arson or worse are pretty high, and you can't just go running headfirst into a situation like that!"

 

She seems taken aback, and he notices belatedly how loud his voice has gotten. "Booth, the place is crawling with rescue workers and law enforcement! There'll be plenty of people watching my back, so even in the unlikely case that there might be danger, I'll be perfectly safe!"

 

Booth takes a step towards her. "We both know that doesn't mean shit – I've always had your back, Bones, but how many times did you still get hurt? There are some thing nobody can protect you from, and you can't…"

 

"Booth." To his surprise, she steps closer too and places her hand on his arm; her tone is gentle when she continues. "I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I'm needed at the scene. A lot of people are still missing, and many of the victims are too badly burned to identify them. Their families must be desperate, and they need me to find their loved ones for them. You understand that, right?"

 

He feels like he's been punched in the gut, and for a moment it becomes impossible to breathe. _Desperate to find their loved ones…_

 

"You can't go, Bones." He knows with absolute certainty that he mustn't let her walk out the door, and right now he doesn't care what it will take – he just needs to keep her safe.

 

Her grip on his arm tightens, and she sounds hesitant when she asks, "Booth, are you feeling all right? Maybe you should go back to bed and –"

 

The careful tone is the last straw. "Dammit, Bones, stop treating me like I'm crazy and take me seriously!" He didn't mean to yell at her, but he can't deal with this any more, not when she's about to run towards a danger he won't be able to protect her from.

 

"Fine." Her expression hardens; she lets go of his arm and takes a step back. "In that case, I have to tell you that you're way out of line. You're being overbearing and ridiculously over-protective for no logical reason, and it's not up to you to decide what I can or can't do." She shoulders her bag and turns away. "Go back to bed or don't, but I'm leaving now."

 

With two steps, Booth is between her and the door. The small part of his mind that's still thinking clearly keeps screaming at him that this is a very bad move, but it stands no chance against the fear that's gripping his insides. "You're not leaving."

 

Her eyes narrow, and he braces himself because he's dead certain she's about to sock him in the jaw, but the blow he expects never comes.

 

"Watch me."

 

With that, she sidesteps him in a quick, fluid move; before he has time to react, the sound of the apartment door slamming shut is echoing in the hallway outside.

 

+++

 

Booth spends the morning glued to the TV screen. The incident in Washington Highlands is all over the local news, and he keeps trying to spot the Jeffersonian team as he watches the live feeds from the site of the collapse. At one point, a reporter manages to shove a microphone in Cam's face as she comes out of the ruined building, but she just snaps at the guy to get out of her way and let her do her work. A while later, Booth catches a glimpse of Bones and Clark peeling the remains of a burn victim off what looks like a linoleum floor, but the camera pans away before he can make out any details. It's a small relief to see her safe and sound, but it doesn't ease the leaden knot of fear in his gut, and even though he keeps telling himself it's just the after-effects of the nightmare, he can't help the suffocating feeling of helplessness as he watches her go about her work with nobody by her side to look out for her.

 

When the sun comes up, he calls Genny Shaw and cancels their nine o'clock appointment. He tells her he slept badly and isn't feeling well, which isn't actually a lie even though the real reason is that therapy is the last thing on his mind at the moment, and that he won't be able to concentrate on anything until Bones is back home. She'll be spitting mad at him, but that's not important now – the only things that matters is that he'll know she's safe.

 

He barely notices the passing of time until the doorbells rings around noon. Booth's first instinct is to ignore it – he can't think of anyone who would just show up on Bones' doorstep unannounced, and he is in no mood to deal with salesmen or missionaries. The person outside is insistent, though, and after the fourth or fifth ring Booth gets up with a muttered curse and yanks the door open with more force than necessary to give them a piece of his mind.

 

"Agent Booth, how nice to see you! I'm quite relieved that you decided to answer the door after all, I'm afraid I'm not very adept at breaking and entering." Gordon Gordon gives Booth a beaming smile and raises the covered dish he's holding. "I hope you're hungry?"

 

Booth doesn't have time to come up with a coherent reply because his unexpected visitor has already breezed right past him and is now making a beeline for the dining table. "Kitchen is this way, I suppose? If you'll excuse me for a moment…"

 

A few seconds later, Gordon Gordon is back with two plates and cutlery. Booth, mouth hanging open, can only watch him set the table as if he owned the place; he only recovers when Gordon Gordon casts a disapproving glance at the TV. "Ah yes, the tragedy in Washington Highlands."

 

"You've heard?" Booth asks weakly while Gordon Gordon picks up the remote from the coffee table and switches off the TV.

 

"I have, but as much as I sympathize with the involved parties, I'm afraid that the sight of charred bodies would put me off my lunch." He takes the lid off the dish he brought, and the delicious smell reminds Booth that he completely forgot about breakfast this morning. He still doesn't really feel like eating, but he knows that trying to resist Gordon Gordon will be pointless – the guy managed to make him drink _tea_ , after all.

 

"Can I at least get you something to drink, doc, or did you bring your own too?"

 

The sarcasm bounces right off Gordon Gordon. "Just a glass of water, please – there are some wines I could recommend, but I believe you're not supposed to drink alcohol yet?"

 

"Right." Boot stomps into the kitchen and fills two glasses, one with water for his "guest" and one with that disgusting vitamin concoction for himself. He still isn't sure what to make of the surprise visit, but he has a good idea _who_ is behind it.

 

"Did Bones send you?"

 

"She did indeed." Gordon Gordon is busy filling their plates with what looks like some kind of stew. "Do give this a try, I'm fairly certain that you'll find it to your taste."

 

It turns out that the stuff really isn't half bad, but food is the last thing on Booth's mind right now. "Why?"

 

"She didn't give me a specific reason, but my impression was that she's worried about you." Gordon Gordon chews thoughtfully for a moment before he continues. "She called me after your therapist informed her that you cancelled today's appointment…"

 

"Genny ratted me out?" For some reason, the possibility never occurred to him – he has come to trust Genny, so this unexpected betrayal stings quite a bit. "So much for patient confidentiality."

 

"I assume it's mostly a billing issue," Gordon Gordon replies with a shrug. "Since Dr. Brennan is paying your therapist, she probably felt that she needed to inform her of the cancellation."

 

Booth pushes his plate away, what little appetite he had is definitely gone now. "That's just great." He knows that Bones is footing his bills, of course, and he feels bad enough about it, but it never occurred to him that she might be paying for his therapy.

 

Gordon Gordon gives him a weird look. "You weren't aware of the arrangement?"

 

"Definitely not." Now that he has had time to digest the news, he feels his anger rising. "So tell me, doc, is she paying you extra for the house call?"

 

"Dr. Brennan isn't paying me." Gordon Gordon smiles indulgently. "I'm no longer in this business, remember? As far as I'm concerned, I'm merely trying to help a friend."

 

Booth's anger evaporates as quickly as it flared up and leaves nothing but resignation behind. "I didn't mean it like that."

 

"I know." Gordon Gordon takes another bite and then lowers his fork. "This appears to be an issue that bothers you a lot."

 

"Wouldn't it bother you if you were in my place?"

 

Gordon Gordon raises an eyebrow. "Very impressive. It's hardly surprising that you keep frustrating young Dr. Sweets so much."

 

Booth shrugs; Sweets is not a topic he wants to dwell on right now. "So Bones asked you to baby-sit me."

 

"Actually, the reason she contacted me was the altercation you two got into this morning – she didn't tell me any details, but she mentioned that your behavior appeared out of character to her, so I assume she's concerned that it might be related to your lingering problems with reality."

 

"So the fact that I worry about her is now a sign that I'm brain-damaged?" Once again, Booth's temper flares. "She tells herself I'm crazy so she won't have to listen to what I'm saying? Thanks a lot, doc."

 

Gordon Gordon puts up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger, Agent Booth. Tell me, was that other Dr. Brennan – the one who was pregnant with your child – willing to listen to you?"

 

Booth has had enough of this; he pushes back his chair and stands, savoring his momentary ability to tower over Gordon Gordon. "What, you think I dreamed up a… a tamed version of her because I can't handle the real thing?" The thoughtful look that crosses the shrink's face warns him that he's probably walking into a dozen traps right now, but he's pissed enough not to care.

 

"I believe we've established that you didn't actively 'dream up' anything given that you were in a coma." Gordon Gordon leans back a little in his chair; his mild tone grates on Booth's nerves. "The subconscious is a very interesting place, and fears are just as likely to manifest themselves in dreams as desires are."

 

Booth has no idea what to say to that, so he just crosses his arms and glowers. Gordon Gordon sighs.

 

"Do sit down, Agent Booth, I'm going to develop a crick in my neck if I keep staring up at you."

 

Booth remains motionless for a few moments longer; then he turns the chair around and straddles it. There's probably some deeper shrinky meaning behind that as well, but he's done worrying about it.

 

Gordon Gordon gives him an approving nod. "That's better. Now, maybe you can enlighten me what your fight was about?"

 

Booth takes a deep breath. "I was just trying to keep her safe, okay? She's completely reckless when it comes to dangerous situations, but she gets mad at me when I try to remind her that she needs to be careful, and she flipped out on me today when I didn't want her to go to that collapse site with no adequate protection."

 

"And by 'adequate protection' you mean yourself, I assume?"

 

The question makes Booth bristle. "What's that supposed to mean? I know I'm not fit to work at the moment, but she wouldn't have listened to me even if I was!"

 

"Do you remember when you first came to work with me, Agent Booth? After that incident with the unfortunate clown you shot?"

 

Booth rolls his eyes. "I'm not likely to forget."

 

"Maybe you also remember what I told you then about your need to control your environment, because it seems to me that the issue might be at the heart of your current problems."

 

"You think I'm the one with control issues? In case you didn't notice, doc, I'm not in control of _anything_ right now!"

 

"I wasn't really thinking of you, Agent Booth – I was talking about Dr. Brennan."

 

This unexpected turn gives Booth pause. "Oh, that – that makes sense, I guess. I mean, she never listens to anyone, she feels she has to do everything by herself..."

 

Gordon Gordon nods sagely. "Do you think it might be connected to the fact that she was abandoned as a teenager? She probably had no other choice than to become self-reliant."

 

"I guess… I mean – I know she had it tough growing up, but that's no reason not to let people help her now! She's brilliant and everything, but there are still some things she shouldn't have to do alone, so why does she refuse to accept that?"

 

"Interesting." There's an undertone in Gordon Gordon's remark that makes alarm bells ring in Booth's mind. "As far as I know, you had a rather troubled childhood as well, yes?"

 

Booth snorts. "You could say that."

 

"Then why do you think that, in spite of your similar backgrounds, you're so much better at accepting help than she is?"

 

Booth opens his mouth and closes it again when he realizes what he just walked into. "Not funny, doc."

 

Gordon Gordon smiles thinly. "Maybe not, but I can still appreciate the irony, can't I? Look," he adds at Booth's murderous glare, "I told your Dr. Sweets a while ago that you and Dr. Brennan are remarkably alike in many ways, and I'm under the impression that these similarities may be at the root of quite a few of your current troubles. You've both become fiercely independent and self-reliant out of necessity – not only because there was nobody to take the burden off your shoulders, but also because deep down you were both convinced that nobody would even bother to try."

 

Booth has no idea what he's supposed to say to that, so he remains stubbornly silent. Gordon Gordon takes a sip from his glass and then rises with a sigh. "I'm afraid I have to get back to my next class now. Do come see me again soon, Agent Booth, I believe there's quite a lot we have to talk about. Oh, and one more thing – Dr. Brennan asked me to inform you that Miss Shaw would be available for a therapy session in the afternoon and is awaiting your call in case you feel better."

 

+++

 

Booth struggles with his pride for two more hours before he gives in and calls Genny. The knowledge that Bones is paying her still rankles him, but Genny is his best shot at a faster recovery, and he'll never be able to pay Bones back if he doesn't get back to work as soon as possible.

 

Therapy takes his mind off things for a while, and then a visit to the gym manages to get him through the rest of the afternoon. By the time he comes home in the evening, Booth is dead on his feet. He was secretly hoping that Bones would be back before him, but the apartment is empty, and after a while he gets a text from her telling him not to wait up because she'll be stuck at the lab until midnight at least.

 

Booth goes to bed with a mixture of anger and worry churning in his stomach that night. He tries to stay awake for a while longer just in case Bones comes home earlier than she said, but pretty soon his exhaustion gets the better of him.

 

+++

 

In the darkest moments before dawn, a woman returns to her bed…

 

The mattress dips as she slides into bed next to him, and then her hands are all over his body. Booth turns into her touch, eager to feel her, to lose himself in the smoothness of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the softness of her breasts under his palms. Her curves mold themselves against him as she stretches out on top of him, and he grinds his hips into her, wanting, needing her closer. Her sighs turn into moans when he flips them over so he's on top of her, and it's his turn to moan when she playfully bites down on his shoulder. She cries out when he pushes inside, and then there's nothing but the wet, silky warmth of her body as they move together, slow at first, and then faster and faster until –

 

There's a sound outside the bedroom door, and Booth startles violently. The room is pitch dark when he opens his eyes; he's on his stomach with his aching erection pressed into the mattress. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, and when he finally does, he wants to cry at the unfairness of it all.

 

He remembers the scene he just relived in his dreams, but it's not a part of the life he shared with her – it almost feels like a dream from that other life that he somehow managed to take with him, and while his memories of that life are fading, the dream has never been so clear before. He can still feel her underneath him, can smell the lingering fragrance of her, and it makes him ache with desperate longing.

 

The staccato of his rapid pulse is loud in his ears, and it takes him a while to become aware of his surroundings, but then he hears the sound of the shower in the master bathroom and realizes that Bones must finally have come home.

 

His body is still screaming for release, and Booth finally gives in. He tries to bring the dream back as he starts stroking himself, but he can't help imagining Bones in the shower just a few steps away from him, her soapy hands moving over her glistening body. He knows he's treading on dangerous ground, but he's too weary to fight any longer, and at last he allows himself to picture stepping into the shower and pushing her up against the wall, her breasts pressed against his chest and her legs around his hips, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he thrusts into her.

 

He bites down on his knuckles when he comes so she won't hear him call out her name.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

"Are you finished already? I can't be late today."

 

She doesn't even bother to stick her head out of the bathroom to reply. "There's plenty of time, Booth; arriving early only means having to stay in the waiting room longer."

 

Booth bites back a scathing reply; he knows she's right, but he feels like a caged tiger, and he keeps pacing in the living room while Bones takes her sweet time getting ready. He barely slept last night, and he's downright grateful that he's not allowed to eat anything because the mere thought of breakfast makes his stomach turn. He has been dreading this morning for days (weeks, maybe, if he's honest with himself) – because he has to go to the hospital for his first post-tumor checkup, and the prospect of having his brain poked and prodded again makes his insides clench with anxiety.

 

"Booth, sit down."

 

The sound of her voice startles him badly. He didn't even notice her coming into the room, and he can only hope that it isn't too evident how out of sorts he feels. He reluctantly takes a seat next to her on the couch; Bones is right, they'll be early if they leave right away, and waiting in her living room is definitely more comfortable than in those horrible plastic seats at the hospital.

 

"There's no reason for you to be nervous." She's probably trying to be reassuring, but to Booth it sounds like she's berating him for the fact that _he_ doesn't possess an off switch for emotions that may not be rational.

 

"That's easy for you to say, isn't it? You're not the one who might have a new tumor growing in her head."

 

He feels like an ass the moment the words are out, but it's too late now. Her expression tightens, and her voice is cool when she replies, "That's true, but it doesn't change the fact that there is no evidence to support the assumption that your tumor might have returned."

 

Booth sighs. "Look, Bones, I'm sorry – I didn't mean…"

 

"It's fine." He hates it when she takes refuge in that clinical tone, but he knows that right now it's his own damn fault. "I understand that you are concerned, but there are no symptoms to indicate that there might be reason for concern. You aren't hallucinating again, are you?"

 

Booth shakes his head; his brain is still playing plenty of tricks on him, but thankfully outright hallucinations haven't been among them. "No, nothing like that."

 

"Headaches, nausea, blurred vision, sudden spells of dizziness?"

 

"Nope." Bless her, he's actually beginning to feel a bit better – maybe the clinical approach _is_ the smartest way to deal with a medical problem, after all.

 

"Any other neurological issues that can't be attributed to your prolonged coma? I'm aware that you're still having problems in that regard, but from what I've seen they've been getting better, not worse, which means they are lingering effects of your previous illness, not indications of a new problem."

 

"Uh… not really." Booth hesitates for a second. He doesn't often discuss stuff like that with her – she knows about his general progress because she's around to see it every day, of course, but she rarely asks for details if he doesn't volunteer them. "Genny isn't satisfied with my fine motor skills yet, but she says it's because I'm mostly focused on getting my strength back at the moment…"

 

"While that may not be the ideal approach from a medical standpoint, it's consistent with your character, so I'd consider it more worrisome if you _weren't_ acting like that." He isn't sure what she's trying to say, and it must be obvious from his expression, because she adds, "It means you're still the man you were before your illness, and since brain tumors have been known to cause personality changes…"

 

"I get it." For the first time this morning, he can bring himself to smile at her. "Thanks, Bones."

 

_You're still the man you were._

 

The warm glow those words left behind is brutally snuffed out by her next question. "What about your libido? Do you masturbate with the same frequency as before?"

 

Booth's jaw drops. " _Bones_!"

 

His scandalized yelp only makes her shrug. "It's a medically relevant issue, there's no need for you to be embarrassed. I'm aware how much of a prude you are when it comes to sexual topics, but your doctors are likely to ask you the same question, so you should be prepared to answer it."

 

He can't stay in his seat any longer. "You're _not_ my doctor, okay? I'm not discussing with you if I…"

 

Bones seems unperturbed by the fact that he's towering over her; she looks perfectly serene as she watches him struggle for words, and Booth has to clamp down on the urge to strangle her. "…masturbate?" she finally finishes his sentence. "Booth, I'm sure even you are aware how outdated and illogical the Catholic stance on the topic is, and I assume that the pope's disapproval doesn't prevent you from engaging in self-gratification when you don't have a partner to satisfy your biological needs. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and in the context of your recovery, I would actually encourage you to –"

 

"Stop!" Booth's mortification is eclipsed by his rising anger; she, of all people, has no right to taunt him about this. "I am not discussing this with you, Bones, so shut the hell up, okay?" He didn't mean to take such a tone with her, but he's becoming angrier with every word – she _knows_ how he feels about her, so what the fuck does she think she's doing? He's struggling every day not to let her notice what it does to him to be near her without ever being able to touch her, and _that's_ what he gets in return?

 

"You're being very irrational, you know."

 

The condescending tone is the last straw. "And you're playing dumber than even you have any business being!"

 

He's yelling now, and a quick flash of… something in her eyes tells him she's not as impassive as she tries to appear either, but he's furious enough not to care. "You really want to talk about this, Bones? You want me to tell you that I'm thinking of you whenever I have my hand around my dick, that every wet dream I have these days is about you? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

 

He knows he's crossing a very dangerous line, but God, does it feel good to finally get that out it the open, to stop keeping up a façade that's beginning to suffocate him.

 

To his surprise, she doesn't react at all; she just leans back in her seat and folds her hands in her lap as if she were participating in some academic discussion. "We both know it's not _me_ you're fantasizing about, Booth."

 

"Oh no, you're not giving me that." He's no longer yelling, but not because he has calmed down; on the contrary, if anything he's even angrier than before. "You don't get to pretend that it's all just happening in my brain, that this is nothing but an aftereffect of my coma. I don't even remember sleeping with you in that other place –"

 

Bones rises in a swift, graceful move; she's right in his personal space now, but her icy composure surrounds her like an impenetrable shield. "That should already tell you something, shouldn't it? I assure you that you would definitely remember if you ever slept with _me_."

 

He's fully aware that they're dancing through a minefield, but now that she's right there with him, he'll be damned if he backs down. "It wasn't me who got cold feet at the last minute during the Arrington case, was it? I wanted you right from the start, Bones, and you damn well knew it – or are we pretending now that I imagined that too?"

 

She opens her mouth, and Booth braces himself because whatever she's about to say is going to sting – but then she unexpectedly takes a step back and raises her left arm so he can see her wristwatch. "Speaking of 'last minute', we need to leave now if you don't want to be late for your appointment."

 

A quick glance at the watch confirms that what looks like a cheap cop-out is actually true. They do need to leave, and Booth suddenly wishes he had kept his mouth shut because all that stuff he stirred up will now be hanging between them, and God alone knows when they'll get a chance to resolve it – if it ever happens at all.

 

He follows her out of the building in silence, and by the time she unlocks her car, regret and apprehension have tightened into a hard, heavy knot in the pit of his stomach. They can't afford to tempt fate like that – not while everything between them is hanging in such a precarious balance, while every mistake they make might drive them apart for good.

 

_Jesus Christ, Seeley, what were you thinking?_

 

Bones is about to climb into the driver's seat when his hand on her shoulder stops her. She turns around to face him, and he can see that it's costing her some effort to keep up the calm, neutral façade. The knot in his stomach turns to lead, and he knows he needs to do some kind of damage control right now because there's no telling what will happen if they let what just went down between them fester.

 

"Bones, can we… look, can we just go back?" She frowns, and he realizes he forgot about her tendency to take things literally, so he hastens to clarify. "I mean – I know it's impossible to turn back time, so you don't have to remind me, but do you think we can just forget that the last twenty minutes ever happened?"

 

She holds his gaze without flinching, and to his immense relief, her expression softens.

 

"Okay."

 

She doesn't say anything else, but for now it's enough, and Booth walks over to the other side of the car and tries to ignore that his knees feel like they're made of rubber.

 

+++

 

They drive in silence for a while, and Booth does his best to keep up his side of the bargain and stop fretting about the bullet they just dodged, but the downside is that it brings the impending hospital visit back to the forefront of his mind. He knows that all her reasons why he shouldn't worry make perfect sense, but they don't ease his anxiety – no matter how irrational it may be, the helpless feeling of being at the mercy of an enemy he can't fight and who might strike again at any given moment leaves him tense and on edge.

 

"You really think I'm going to be okay?"

 

He hates how scared he sounds, but he reminds himself that this is Bones, who doesn't put much stock in feelings and focuses on what she can quantify and analyze, and for once he's grateful for her calm rationality that will allow her to give him an accurate answer without being sidetracked by the emotional implications.

 

"There's no reason for me to think that you won't be. You know there's always a chance of your tumor returning, which is why you'll need to have these checkups in regular intervals for the rest of your life, but there are no symptoms to indicate that there's anything wrong with your brain other than the normal aftereffects of your coma. Therefore, the logical conclusion is to assume that the tests the doctors are going to run will confirm that you are indeed okay."

 

Booth exhales sharply. She didn't tell him anything he didn't already know, but it's still good to hear it from the one person who's never been afraid of facing painful truths. "Thank you."

 

"I merely stated a fact, Booth, you don't need to thank me for that."

 

There's something in the tone of her answer that doesn't quite sound right – he can't pinpoint it, but something doesn't add up, and while he believes every word she said, he can't help feeling there's something he's missing. Her expression gives nothing away either; she's pale and has dark shadows under her eyes, but that's not new, and otherwise she looks composed and perfectly at ease.

 

Booth leans back in his seat and focuses on drawing a deep, calming breath. It doesn't fully dissipate his nervousness, but if Bones believes that everything will be okay, he knows he can trust her judgment.

 

That's when he looks at her hands on the steering wheel and notices she's gripping it so tightly that the knuckles have turned white.

 

_Sometimes I think your heart muscle is bigger than people give you credit for._

 

Did he really ever tell her that? He finds that he has no idea, but it doesn't actually matter – because whether that moment happened or not, the memory reminds him that her ability to compartmentalize her emotions doesn't mean she doesn't _have_ them, and he can't believe that it took him until now to remember that.

 

He still doesn't doubt that she told him the truth, but her death grip on the steering wheel tells him that even her unwavering faith in her beloved science isn't able to keep her from being scared for him, and he finds the knowledge strangely reassuring.

 

+++

 

Bones jumps to her feet as soon as she sees him coming out of the exam room. "How did it go?"

 

The matter-of-fact tone of her question gives nothing away, but Booth sees the hectic red spots on her cheeks and isn't fooled.

 

"The guy who did the MRI said he didn't see any masses in my brain. We'll have to wait for the details, and for the other test results, but I figure that's the most important thing right now, isn't it?"

 

"That's very reassuring, yes." In spite of her words, she still looks tense. "They told me they'll have the results in about two hours, so you can stay and wait for them if you'd like."

 

Booth is still too giddy with relief to fully focus on what she's saying, so it takes a second for the information to register with him. "Wow, that's fast – I thought I'd have to wait a couple of days…"

 

She smiles thinly. "The Cantilever Group is one of the hospital's most important business partners, Booth."

 

"Huh." Booth isn't sure how he feels about getting special treatment because of Hodgins' money, but this is probably not the time to make an issue of it. "Well, I guess the sooner we know, the better."

 

Bones nods. "Knowledge is always preferable to ignorance. Do you want me to stay with you, or –"

 

"Stay." On an impulse, he reaches for her hand, and even though she flinches a little, she doesn't pull it away. "I probably won't understand any of the stuff the doctors tell me, so it would be great if you could translate for me."

 

The reassurance that he wants her around for practical reasons seems to ease her mind. "I can do that."

 

"Great." He actually means it – he feels better than he has in a long time, and even though he doesn't have the official test results yet, his gut tells him that he's going to be fine. Bones doesn't look like she shares his relief, but it's nothing less than he expected – _she_ will need to see the actual proof before she believes it. "Do you think we could hit the cafeteria while we wait? I'm getting kinda hungry here."

 

It's true, too – now that the leaden weight of nervousness has dissolved, his growling stomach forcibly reminds him that he hasn't eaten since yesterday evening.

 

"You go ahead – I need to call the lab and check if –"

 

"No way, Bones." Booth wraps an arm around her shoulders and all but drags her towards the exit. "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't eat breakfast either, so you're having lunch with me now." He was hoping to bring a smile to her face, but her pinched expression tells him he'll have to try harder. "Come on, I'll even eat rabbit food with you as long as you let me have fries with it."

 

"We'll share the salad _and_ the fries," she reminds him, but at least she's making a valiant effort to smile now, and Booth can't help enjoying the fact that for once he's the one to make _her_ feel better.

 

+++

 

"I'll see you again in three months, Mr. Booth. Dr. Brennan…"

 

Dr. Bryar's handshake is as firm and businesslike as the rest of her demeanor, and Booth still feels weirded out by the memory of her smiling and flirting with him.

 

He quickly forgets about it, though, as the fact that everything is okay with him begins to fully register; he didn't understand most of the details that Bones and the doctor discussed, but the gist was that all his test results were normal, and that Dr. Bryar is quite impressed with his overall progress. He walks out of the exam room feeling ten feet tall and more hopeful than he's been in a long time.

 

Bones still has her nose in his paperwork while they make their way back to the hospital parking lot, and Booth lets her be because he figures it's her way of dealing. He only starts getting worried when, once they're both in the car, she just puts her hands on the steering wheel and keeps staring straight ahead without making a move to turn the key in the ignition.

 

"Uh, Bones – what exactly are you waiting for?"

 

She doesn't look at him when she replies. "For you to fasten your seatbelt."

 

That's so totally out of the blue that Booth isn't certain how to react, so he decides to make light of it. "Hey, if this is another test, I pass – I remember perfectly well that I never wear a seatbelt."

 

"I'm aware of that." She finally turns to face him, and Booth is taken aback to see her eyes flashing dangerously. "You'll be starting today, though, at least while you're a passenger in my car."

 

"What's the matter with you?" He doesn't want to let anything spoil his good mood, but this is getting weird. "I've never worn a seatbelt in all the years you've known me!"

 

"Yes, and it was stupid from the beginning! Do you know how little it takes to send a person flying through the windshield? Even a crash at a speed as low as thirty miles per hour –"

 

"Stop lecturing me!" He's beginning to get impatient. "Bones, what the hell is going on? I've never heard you complain about me not wearing a seatbelt before – you even told me once that you find it reassuring!"

 

She flinches as if he'd struck her. "I _never_ said that! I'm sorry if I don't live up to your fantasy version of me who saw everything your way, but I've always hated the fact that you're so flippant about risking your life for no reason!"

 

"Whoa, slow down!" Booth does his best to keep his voice even, but he can't help it that he, too, is getting louder. "What the hell are you talking about? Look, I get that you're a little rattled after everything that went down today, but it's _okay_ now, Bones – I'm okay, and there's no reason for you to flip out on me!"

 

"Oh yes, everything is okay for now – until you end up with you brain splattered over the pavement, or in another hospital bed with everyone waiting for me to pull the plug, or until I get another call from the FBI to inform me that you were killed by a bullet that was meant for me!" The tears that have gathered in her eyes are beginning to spill over her cheeks, and Booth realizes with growing alarm that she's about to lose it completely.

 

"Bones…"

 

"Shut up!" She's yelling now – screaming, really – without any concern for the weird looks they're drawing from other people in the parking lot. "Shut the hell up, Booth, and stop telling me it's going to be okay! You make all these grand promises about always being here and never leaving me, but you keep proving how little they mean to you, and I can't take it any more! I've had enough of you dying on me!"

 

Booth's first instinct is to fling her accusations back into her face (does she believe that he grew a tumor on purpose or what?), but there's something that holds him back – a half-forgotten memory that warns him they're on thin ice again, and that he needs to be very careful about his next step unless he wants it to end in disaster.

 

_I have this sense that everything's changing, Booth._

 

He has no idea when he heard her say that, but he's dead certain that something bad happened because he failed to understand what was going on with her. Things are changing for the better right now, though, aren't they?

 

_I envy your ability to substitute optimism for reality._

 

His stomach is tying itself into nervous knots again, and even if he can't tell where the ominous feeling of impending danger is coming from, he isn't going to risk dismissing it.

 

With great care, Booth reaches for his seatbelt and buckles himself in. "Bones, can we please go home and talk about this without yelling at each other?"

 

"Fine." She wipes the tears off her cheeks with a quick, angry move and refuses to meet his eyes as she starts the car.

 

+++

 

As soon as they're back at her apartment, Bones makes a beeline for her bedroom and slams the door shut behind her. Booth has to fight the urge to punch the wall in frustration; he knows he needs to keep it together because there's no telling what might happen if they both lose their temper, but it's not getting any easier while he paces in the living room waiting for her to come back out so he can finally ask her what the hell is going on with her.

 

It takes over an hour until her bedroom door opens and a freshly showered, barefoot Bones walks out. She's wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt that's three sizes too big for her, but still doesn't hide the fact that she's wearing no bra underneath, and Booth's mouth goes dry at the sight of her breasts moving under the soft fabric with every step she takes. Her hair is curling around her forehead in damp tendrils, her face is clear of make-up, and even though her eyes are rimmed red, she has never looked more beautiful to him.

 

_God help me._

 

"Bones." His voice comes out rough, and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. "Please talk to me. Look, I can see that something is wrong, and it didn't just start today – but whatever it is, we won't be able to work it out if you aren't honest with me."

 

She crosses her arms and widens her stance slightly; it looks for all the world like she's expecting an attack. "There's nothing to work out, Booth."

 

He flinches at the cool tone. It seems that she hasn't just calmed down since her meltdown in the hospital parking lot, she has put all her defenses up again and is now back to freezing him out, and he's getting heartily sick of it.

 

"Yeah, right." He does his best to keep a tight rein on his temper, but her stony expression isn't making it easy. "I've been in enough relationships to know when I'm being given the silent treatment, but it never works, Bones – you need to _talk_ to me if –"

 

" _We're not in a relationship_!" She takes a step towards him, and suddenly her calm mask is slipping; her voice is getting louder with every word. "But even if we were, where do you get the arrogance to consider yourself an authority on the topic? You had a girlfriend who balked at the idea of spending a week-long vacation with you, an on-off fling with my boss that you tried to hide from everyone, and you barely were on speaking terms with your son's mother until recently!"

 

Booth draws in a sharp breath; if she wanted to hit him where it hurts, she managed it with pinpoint precision. Out of nowhere, he remembers Gordon Gordon's insinuation that his comatose brain came up with a watered down version of Bones because he can't deal with the reality of her, and the memory turns hurt into anger.

 

"Watch it, Bones, or –"

 

"Or what?" The icy composure is gone completely; her flashing eyes remind him of the look on her face just before she punched him at his fake funeral. "You will tell me again that you want me and go back to denying it ten minutes later? You must have gotten pretty good at it, considering that you claim you've been doing it ever since our first case!"

 

Her voice lowers to a scathing hiss that is eerily reminiscent of a snake that's about to strike. "So what's it going to take, Booth? Do I need to start weeping into your shoulder to get you in the mood?"

 

He recoils as if she'd plunged a knife into his chest. He has faced her anger plenty of times before, but in all the time he has known her, he has _never_ seen her being deliberately cruel. To take something that he would never have confided in anyone but her and use it against him –

 

"You…" He doesn't continue because he has no idea what he wants to say to her right now, but Bones saves him the trouble anyway.

 

"…bitch?" she finishes for him, and just like that, the icy mask is back. She crosses her arms again and raises her chin defiantly, preempting a retaliation that she's sure will come, and the realization makes Booth feel like he's been doused with a bucket of cold water.

 

_Jesus Christ, Bones, is this what we've come to?_

 

"You know I'd never call you that." He's so appalled that it cuts right through his anger and leaves him with the sudden, horrifying clarity of someone who wakes from a nightmare and finds himself standing on the windowsill with nothing but a sheer drop in front of him.

 

"Why not?" It seems wrong that she can sound as if the idea didn't trouble her in the least. "Plenty of people have done it before you, and I assume that even more are doing it behind my back, and you know what? I don't _care_. It only means that I'm not ashamed of what I want, and that I'm willing to go for it – that kind of behavior is encouraged in men, yet our society still frowns upon women who do the same, but that has never stopped me. What about you, Booth?"

 

Suddenly she's right in his face, close enough for him to smell her, to feel the warmth radiating off her skin – and then her mouth is on his, and his rational mind shuts down.

 

The kiss is all teeth, rough and brutal – there's none of the playful exploration of that kiss in the rain, none of the soft, sweet tenderness that he still remembers from a life that's fading into the shadows. And yet she tastes like _her_ , like the woman he has known and loved for so long, and Booth throws himself into the kiss without thinking – all that matters is her, finally close enough to touch, to feel, to –

 

Without breaking the kiss, she wraps her arms around his waist and grinds her hips into his, and he only notices now that he's been hard since the yelling started. She increases the pressure, making him gasp into her mouth, and her hands slide lower to grab his ass and pull him even more firmly against her. His own arms tighten around her, and he makes a keen sound of protest deep in his throat when the mind-blowing friction of her crotch against his is suddenly gone. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of her pants, and Booth freezes when he realizes what she's doing, that she's pulling them down her legs together with her panties until she has to break his hold on her to step out of them.

 

She retreats a little, putting enough space between them for him to get a clear view of her as she pulls the oversized t-shirt up over her head, and Booth can only stare as she stands before him completely naked, all creamy skin and firm, long limbs and breathtaking curves. And yet – those aren't the full, round breasts he remembers; the sharper angles of her body don't resemble the soft flare of her hips, the gentle slopes of her belly and thighs that his hands have explored over and over, and the patch of curls between her legs is darker and wirier than the one he used to run his fingers through.

 

She's his Bones, and yet she isn't, and the images before his eyes and in his mind are pulling at him from different directions and leave him reeling. One thing he knows for certain, though – she's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life, and his body is screaming for her without any concern for his mind's inability to catch up.

 

He reaches for her, and she steps back into his arms without hesitation – but she doesn't kiss him again. Instead she leans in to whisper "Do you want _this_ , Booth?" in his ear, and the way his hands start roaming over every part of her that he can reach seems to be enough of an answer for her.

 

She grabs the front of his shirt and pulls sharply, sending buttons flying everywhere, and the feeling of her nipples brushing against his bare chest makes his knees buckle for a second. She's leaning against him, pushing him backwards, and it takes him a moment to realize that she's marching him through the still-open door to her bedroom. His head is beginning to spin – this is all happening too fast, but she doesn't relent, doesn't even consider slowing down as her hands are busy with his belt and zipper. He opens his mouth to say something, but he only manages a strangled moan because just as his calves hit the bed, she slides her hand into his boxers and wraps her hand around his straining erection.

 

Heat blossoms deep in is belly, and then he's falling, backwards onto the bed, his body crying out in protest when she lets go of him to yank his pants and boxers down. He's still trying to come to grips with the fact that this is really happening, that he's really here in Bones' bed without a stitch of clothing remaining between them, but she doesn't give him time to gather his wits.

 

She straddles his hips, and then rubs herself over the underside of his aching cock, covering him in the silky wetness of her arousal. He reaches for her, desperate to bring her closer, to feel every inch of that breathtaking body, but she doesn't even seem to notice his hands cupping her breasts. Before he realizes what she's doing, the tip of his cock is sliding between her slick folds, and she sinks down on him in a single, fluid move, engulfing him in wet, tight heat.

 

The mix of surprise and overwhelming sensation makes him cry out; he grabs her hips with both hands because he knows he should get her to slow down, but his body no longer seems to obey the small part of his brain that's still thinking clearly. She starts rocking against him, raising herself up on her knees and slamming down on him again, and when she leans forward a little it's only to brace herself against his shoulders for leverage. Her gaze never leaves his face, but Booth isn't sure she actually sees him because she seems to look right though him, focusing solely on his cock pumping into her.

 

He feels the flutter of muscles contracting deep inside her and realizes that she's close already. She quickens her pace further, and he can no longer see her face when her head falls forward, hiding her from him behind a veil of auburn hair as she clenches and spasms around him. She makes a sound deep in her throat that he'd never have thought her capable of as she rides out her orgasm, head bowed and fingers digging into his shoulders, and Booth experiences a blinding flash of anger because he might just as well be a blow-up doll right now – a prop that she uses to get herself off, and that will serve no further purpose once that goal has been achieved.

 

His rising fury makes him forget about the limitations of his still-recuperating body. Mustering a strength he probably doesn't really have yet, he flips them over and pins her underneath him with her wrists trapped in his grip over her head and his face right above hers. She doesn't flinch, doesn't turn her head to look away; she squarely meets his gaze again, and he realizes that he's still buried inside her because she's still got her legs clamped tightly around him. She hooks her heels behind his calves and pushes her hips up as if challenging him to start thrusting, and it's the last straw – something snaps in the back of his mind, making him forget everything but the burning desire to fuck her senseless.

 

She gasps when he pushes into her, but she moves with him, meeting each thrust with equal abandon. It's probably a good thing he's nowhere near his full strength yet because he's sure he has never been this rough with any woman he has ever slept with – but the thought vanishes in the dull red haze his brain is swimming in, leaving nothing but touch and heat and friction and the sound of moans and cries that could be coming from either of them. Her body is taut and firm underneath him, and the sounds she makes are unlike anything he has ever heard from hear; the only thing that's still familiar is her scent, but even that is changing with the heady, sweaty musk of sex. He feels her tighten around his cock and wonders idly if she's about to come again, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters but the need to fuck her harder, faster, to bury himself in her until they both forget where the one ends and the other begins.

 

She keeps her eyes on his the whole time, but he can't read her, can't find the connection they used to share – and in the end it's him who tears his gaze away, who lets his forehead fall into the crook of her neck as the heat that's been building up inside him finally explodes in a white-hot flash.

 

She stills as she feels him spilling himself inside her, but even though he has let go of her wrists, she doesn't make a move to touch him. He's still trembling with the aftershocks, but he rolls off her as soon as he feels able to move again and collapses in a graceless heap beside her.

 

His heartbeat is thundering in his ears, and he doesn't seem able to get enough air – it's like his throat has closed up and a heavy weight is pressing on his chest. A detached, almost clinical part of his brain fleetingly wonders if he's about to have a heart attack, but then instinct takes over, and he props himself up on his arms in an attempt to draw a deep breath. Fear is beginning to take hold when he remembers that the last time he felt like this, his life fell apart before his eyes – but this is different, this is now, and the dawning realization that this crude, mindless fuck was their _real_ first time makes him wish he could still slip away into the darkness when reality becomes unbearable.

 

He's still struggling for breath, and when he finally manages to gulp down some air it comes out as a sob on the exhale. His eyes are stinging with tears, and he's helpless to stop them – like a river that drowns everything in its path once the dam is broken, the images rise in his mind, past and present and truths and dreams drawing him into a swirling current that drags him under and suffocates him. He tries to fight it, but it sweeps him away, and then he's crying like he never has before, not even during the darkest days of his childhood when, amidst the daily struggle that was his life, there was still a future to hope for.

 

Suddenly there are arms around him, pulling him against skin that's warm and soft and sticky with drying sweat, and a soothing, blessedly familiar voice whispers in his ear, "Shhh, it's all right – I've got you, Booth, I'm right here, it's all right…"

 

She keeps up the string of meaningless reassurances as she holds him, and Booth clings to her and weeps until he has no tears left, until he's shaking and so out of breath that he's starting to feel dizzy. Her arms around him never let go, and he's dimly aware that she pulls him back onto the bed with her and tucks a blanket around him. The room is beginning to spin, faster and faster, and he holds on to her with all his might to make sure she won't disappear as he drifts off into exhausted sleep.

 

+++

 

The first thing he becomes aware of is the dull throbbing of pain inside his skull. Booth tries to open his eyes, but they're dry and scratchy, and the lids are so swollen that it takes some effort to force them open. He winces when the bright light of early morning hits his eyes and makes the throbbing explode into a killer headache. He's feeling queasy and sore all over, and it takes him a moment to get his bearings.

 

He's in Bones' bed, stark naked under the blanket, and he's alone.

 

Booth squeezes his eyes shut again as the memories of last night hit him full force, but before he can even try to start thinking of a way to deal with them, the door opens and Bones walks in.

 

She's dressed for work, and nothing in her appearance gives away that she had her brains screwed out just a few hours earlier. Her expression is calm and composed, and Booth freezes because he has no idea what he's supposed to say to her.

 

He should have counted on her to take the matter out of his hands. She sits down on the side of the bed and hands him two pills and a glass of water. "I checked, these are safe to take with the rest of your medication."

 

At his blank stare, she adds, "For your headache."

 

Bewildered, Booth struggles upright into a sitting position even though it makes him feel like his head is about to explode. He takes the pills from her and swallows them, and when he has downed the water, he can finally muster up the nerve to talk to her. "How did you know that I have a headache?"

 

She takes the empty glass from him and gives him a look he can't interpret. "Because I always used to get one after crying myself to sleep. When I was younger." She adds the last part like an afterthought, but Booth knows her well enough to notice when she's trying to save face.

 

_When did you last cry yourself to sleep, Bones?_

 

He doesn't ask her that, of course; he has no idea what he _can_ ask her, how they're supposed to deal with what happened last night – and from the look of it, she has decided not to deal with it at all and to act as if it were perfectly normal for him to wake up in her bed.

 

"I've called Miss Shaw and rescheduled your therapy session for three o'clock in the afternoon, so you should try to go back to sleep until the effect of the painkillers sets in. I have to go to work now, but I'll be back around six, and you can reach me on my cell at any time if there's anything you need."

 

"Okay, I… thanks, Bones." It sounds lame to his own ears, but nothing else comes to mind – and as desperate he is for her to stay so they can work things out, maybe she's right to put a bit of distance between them so they both have a chance to digest last night's events separately before they tackle them together.

 

She nods, gets up and turns to leave, and Booth is about to sink back into the pillows when she stops at the door and says in a carefully neutral tone, "I'm on the pill, in case you were wondering."

 

Then she gently closes the door behind her.

 

+++

 

Booth gets up around noon; the headache is gone, but his eyes are still puffy and itching, and the mere thought of food makes his stomach turn. He briefly considers changing the sheets on Bones' bed, but then decides to leave them exactly as they are, tangled and smelling faintly of stale sweat and sex. The feeling of surrealism is getting stronger with every moment, and he wants to keep the evidence around that proves that last night didn't just happen inside his mind.

 

He knows he should get cleaned up, but it takes a while until he can bring himself to step into the shower stall in the guest bathroom – it feels wrong to wash her smell off his skin, to get rid of the physical remnants of last night that are still clinging to him. He has learned enough about DNA in his line of work to know that she's all over him, and even though he finally steps under the spray, he keeps the temperature low because he doesn't want the hot water to dissolve the lingering soreness in his muscles.

 

The afternoon passes in a strange kind of daze. He knows he should be thinking, should be trying to come up with a way for them to resolve this mess, but he has a hard time concentrating on anything because his thoughts keep drifting off in all directions. Genny remarks that he seems a little "out of it" to her during therapy, and Booth bites back a humorless laugh because she doesn't know half of it.

 

He doesn't call Bones during the day, and the closer the hands of the clock move towards six, the more nervous he gets. He still doesn't know what she's thinking of last night, if she spent the day berating herself for acting irrationally, or – and his stomach ties itself into knots as he ponders the possibility – if she assumes they were just "satisfying biological urges" together.

 

He pushes the thought away – he remembers her flashing eyes when she advanced on him, and whatever it was that got her to make such a bold move, he's sure that feeling horny wasn't it. He hasn't forgotten the fit she threw in the parking lot, and although he has no idea how she went from that to jumping him, he hopes she'll finally be willing to tell him when she comes home. She'll probably demand an explanation for _his_ meltdown in return, and even though the memory of coming unglued in front of her makes him cringe with embarrassment, he's willing to deal with it if that's what it takes to get her to open up.

 

Hope fades when Bones arrives ten minutes early with a bag full of groceries and immediately disappears into the kitchen to cook. It takes him a while to work up the nerve to follow, but she doesn't seem to mind; she bosses him around like she usually does when they're cooking together, and Booth chops and stirs and tries to convince himself that this strangely normal behavior is a good sign because it means that at least she's not about to bolt.

 

He waits for a chance to bring up the issue during dinner – but she keeps talking about the latest ancient skeleton they sent her from Outer Mongolia or something, and then informs him that she has an article to proof-read. Yet she doesn't lock herself into her study, but chooses the couch in the living room instead, and Booth figures that's something – maybe they need to ease into this instead of facing it head-on, so he switches on the TV (low enough not to disturb her) and settles down into one of her armchairs.

 

Three hours later she's still poring over the article, and Booth realizes with a sinking feeling that it looks like she's really planning to act as if last night never happened. A few times, he tries to start a conversation, but she always answers as briefly as possible while keeping her eyes on the text she's reading, so he's finally forced to accept that he's not getting through to her.

 

At half past ten, he admits defeat and tells her he's going to bed. She absentmindedly bids him good night, and Booth bites his lower lip to keep himself from saying something stupid.

 

He's about to close the door to the guest room behind him when he catches her raising her head and looking at him. There's something in her eyes he has never seen before, a raw, strangely naked expression, and even though his brain warns him that he's playing with fire, he goes with his gut, opens the door again and holds out his hand towards her.

 

She remains motionless for a few seconds, and Booth has never wished so badly to be able to read the thoughts racing through that genius brain of hers. Then she gets up, and his breath catches in his throat as she walks towards him, takes his hand and follows him into his bedroom.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Booth is woken up by a muscle spasming painfully in his neck. He reluctantly opens his eyes and raises his arms over his head to work out the kinks, but stops with a groan when it only serves to make his body start aching all over.

 

Careful to avoid any abrupt movements, he turns his head to scan his bedroom – _Bones' guest room_ , he reminds himself, it's not like he really lives here – and, to his total lack of surprise, find it empty.

 

He sighs and buries his head in the pillow; it still smells of her, just like the sheets that are tangled all around him, but like every morning that follows one of _those_ nights, her lingering scent and his sore muscles are the only evidence that he didn't just have another X-rated dream.

 

He runs his fingers over the crescent-shaped bruises that her nails have left on his upper arms and wonders if she's doing it on purpose, if she's actively trying to leave some kind of visible mark on him. He's fully aware that _he_ is; as worn-out and exhausted as he is, he can still feel the stirrings of heat low in his belly at the thought of her standing over her bones today, all prim and proper and icily professional, but with a string of bright red hickeys between her breasts and the marks of his teeth on the inside of her thighs under her lab coat.

 

And yet – those seem like feeble attempts to create a link between two realities that drift apart further and further with every night they spend together. Booth looks around again; except for the ceiling, there isn't a flat surface in the room against which they haven't done it by now. He considers himself a pretty seasoned lover, but sleeping with Bones doesn't compare with anything he has experienced in his love life before – and even less so with his fading memories of them in that other place, because there has never been anything gentle or tender since _this_ – whatever it is – has started between them.

 

He has never been the prude she always made him out to be, but now she takes him to places that surpass the wildest fantasies he has ever had of her. It's rough and dirty and very, very loud – he usually isn't much of a screamer in bed, but she makes him lose his self-control in ways he would never have imagined, and Bones herself seems utterly unconcerned about minor issues like modesty or restraint or _neighbors_.

 

And yet, they never speak.

 

There's plenty of noise, but it's all moans and grunts and wordless cries; they don't call out each other's names, don't tell each other how incredible the things feel that they're doing to each other – they're loud, but completely silent at the same time, and by now he wonders if a single word might bring the whole thing crashing down around his ears. Wasn't there an old fairy tale like this, of a man who lost the woman he loved and used magic to bring back her ghost, but he could never speak to her because that would make her fade back into nothingness? He feels a little bit like that sometimes.

 

Days have become deeply surreal, and all their interactions outside his room – always his, he has never been to her bedroom again after that first night – are stiff and awkward in their forced normalcy in which they're both steadfastly pretending that they _aren't_ screwing each other's brains out at night. It almost feels like the early days at the hospital, when he was constantly switching between realities, because it's hard to believe that the pale, withdrawn woman who sits across from him at the dining table every day is the wild creature of passion who blows his mind every night.

 

Or rather, most nights. There's no system, no pattern that he can discern – sometimes their eyes will meet at the end of the evening, and she'll follow him to his room like she did that second night; or she'll come home late and walk in without knocking. Another time, she'll look away when she bids him good-night and disappears into her bedroom, or he'll hear her walk softly past his closed door late at night as if she were afraid to wake him.

 

It's sick and twisted, but he can't bring himself to break the stalemate, can't muster the nerve to ask her what she thinks they're doing. Staying awake and preventing her from sneaking out of his room after they're done fucking is not an option; he isn't nearly back to his old stamina yet, and she wears him out with an intensity that makes him sleep like the dead for the rest of the night. The only plus is that he barely ever dreams during those nights.

 

The normalcy of their days feels so fake that it makes him want to scream. They cook dinner together; she tells him about work, asks about his progress at the gym, drives him to his therapy sessions at the hospital – and yet he feels her draw back further and further, as if she were slipping away from him until he can no longer reach her at all, until all he can still see of her is a blank surface without any substance to it.

 

The feeling of losing her to something he doesn't understand and can't grasp makes him more frantic than he has ever been to hold on to the memories he still has of that other place, where he was building a life with her instead of watching it fall apart, and Booth spends hours each day racking his brain for every shred of those happy moments so he can write them down in Gordon Gordon's book. He has begun to re-read his earlier entries – he skips everything that's sad or painful and focuses on the joyful memories, but that, too, leaves him with a strange, empty sensation of loss. Even though they're all safely in the book now, he can't bring back the feeling of them when he tries to revisit them; they feel flat and empty like the scenes of somebody else's life that he can re-read, but never relive. He has no idea how he's supposed to deal if he loses his connection to her in both realities, and it makes him cling to her even more desperately during those nights when she comes to his bed.

 

He knows he should say something to her, should break this twisted impasse, but the risk of losing everything if he does has kept his mouth firmly shut until now.

 

Booth glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand and sighs when he realizes that he needs to get up because Genny will be here soon. His next appointment with Gordon Gordon is scheduled right afterwards; Genny offered to drive him because Bones can't make it, but he wishes she'd stayed out of it because it would have given him an excuse to cancel.

 

Or Gordon Gordon would just have reminded him that God created taxi cabs for a reason.

 

Heaving another sigh, Booth struggles upright and stretches his aching muscles. As much as he likes Gordon Gordon, he's the last person he wants to see right now because he honestly has no idea what he's going to tell him.

 

+++

 

By the time Genny drops him off at Gordon Gordon's house, Booth's mind is made up. He's going to these sessions to deal with his lingering reality issues, not to have his present relationship troubles – _We're not in a relationship, Booth_ – dissected, and he's pretty sure that Bones, with her utter disdain for psychology, wouldn't appreciate it either if he told Gordon Gordon anything about what's going on between them.

 

He knows Gordon Gordon has a knack for getting things out of him that Booth would have preferred to keep to himself, but now that he's prepared for it, he isn't going to slip up.

 

Gordon Gordon is waiting with the inevitable pot of tea (at this rate, he's probably going to start _liking_ the stuff out of sheer desperation at some point) and manages to take Booth by surprise with his very first question.

 

"I meant to ask you, Agent Booth – how is it going with the book I gave you? Any progress with capturing your memories on paper?"

 

It's the first time the book comes up during their meetings since the day Gordon Gordon gave it to him, and Booth is instantly suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

 

Gordon Gordon raises his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that was the purpose of your visits? Me asking questions and you answering them?"

 

Booth can't help thinking that it sounds like a backwards approach – what he needs is _answers_ , not more questions, but he knows better than to say it out loud. "Whatever. I've been writing down everything I remembered, but I'm not sure it's helping."

 

"How so?"

 

Booth shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at first – I mean, I guess it _is_ helpful to know which of the things I remember are real and which aren't, but all the stuff I write down… I don't know, maybe I'd have to be a writer like Bones to say what I really mean to say, because it all sounds… _less_ , somehow, when I read it now."

 

Gordon Gordon just looks at him expectantly, so Booth soldiers on. "You know, these memories were really vivid at first – almost like I could go back, it all felt so real…"

 

"Ah." Gordon Gordon takes a sip from his cup and puts it back on the coffee table, happily ignoring Booth's growing impatience. "And now that you've written them down, clothed the images in your mind into words, they no longer feel real?"

 

"I guess." Booth hesitates, uncertain how to explain. "Not like before, at least."

 

Gordon Gordon leans back in his seat and crosses his legs at the ankles. " _Dem Leben ist verboten, sich selbst zu sehn im Toten_."

 

At Booth's blank look, he adds, " _It is forbidden that life should see itself in dead eternity_ , in the somewhat awkward English translation. The passage in question deals with the philosophical conundrum that the written word, which is the most powerful tool to shape and preserve the fleeting creations of the human mind, is also their most unrelenting and destructive prison. _We are such stuff as dreams are made on_ , as the Bard says, but putting a dream into words is akin to placing a brilliantly colored butterfly in a glass jar – its beauty is preserved for much longer than the few weeks it would have existed under the open skies, but it can no longer take flight."

 

He falls silent, and Booth wonders if this is a test of some kind – step 1: see how subject reacts to a double helping of meaningless drivel? "Doc, I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

Gordon Gordon chuckles. "Forgive me, Agent Booth, I tend to forget how much you prefer Dr. Brennan's literal approach." He gives Booth a strangely conspiratorial look that makes absolutely no sense. "I daresay your lovely partner knows quite a bit about the magic of the written word, even if she refuses to call it that. What I meant to say was – writing has been used for millennia as a way to tame one's dreams, but the downside – and the price that every writer pays – is that pinning a dream down on paper tends to make it impossible to keep dreaming it."

 

Booth shakes his head; he still isn't sure that he gets what Gordon Gordon is trying to tell him. "What's with the dream stuff all of a sudden? No longer worried about the 'esoteric ring'?"

 

"Turning my own words against me – Agent Booth, as glad as I am to see that you're clearly on the way to a full recovery, I'm afraid I'm not going to be deterred by the same tactics that used to work on the esteemed Dr. Sweets. In fact, I'm fairly certain that you did understand what I mean and are now trying to find a way to convince yourself that I'm wrong."

 

"You made me write down my memories because you knew it would ruin them for me?" Booth is beginning to get angry; that's definitely more than he signed up for, because even though he knows that he needs to separate fantasy from reality, those memories have been his only refuge whenever reality got too much. He wants a way to deal with them, but he never would have agreed to anything that was aimed at destroying them. "Why?"

 

If Gordon Gordon notices the shift in Booth's mood, he doesn't show it. "Are you familiar with the process of denaturation?"

 

The complete change of topic takes Booth by surprise. "What, like industrial alcohol?"

 

"Indeed." Gordon Gordon beams at him as if he'd just won some kind of prize. "Methylated spirits, or industrial alcohol, is used for a great number of purposes, but it also possesses intoxicating qualities that might appeal to alcoholics who have no other way of getting access to hard liquor. It is, however, poisonous and therefore a health hazard, which is the reason why certain substances are added to render its taste unbearably bitter."

 

"Yeah, I know." Booth has no idea where the impromptu chemistry lesson is supposed to lead, but he knows that the only way to find out is to play along. "I've always thought it was pretty useless, though – an alcoholic who's so far gone that he'll drink stuff that might kill him won't give a damn how it tastes and will drink it anyway."

 

"Exactly!" Gordon Gordon looks for all the world as if Booth had just made some major break-through. "Your personal history with addiction issues grants you unique insights into the topic, Agent Booth, and you're absolutely right – a hopeless addict won't care about the quality or the long-time effects of the substance he's addicted to."

 

Booth is pretty sure he's about to get a headache. "You think I was _addicted_ to my coma memories?"

 

"I probably wouldn't put it quite so strongly, but I was under the impression that your attachment to the life your mind presented you with during your coma was standing in the way of your re-adjustment to the world around you."

 

"So you wanted to see if writing down the memories would ruin them for me, or if I was – "

 

"– so far gone that you wouldn't give a damn, to use your own words. Yes, that was my hope indeed."

 

Booth sinks back into Gordon Gordon's overstuffed couch; his head is spinning, and he isn't certain how to react to this unexpected, and pretty disturbing revelation. "That doesn't sound very shrinky to me."

 

Gordon Gordon smiles thinly. "Remember, Agent Booth, I'm mostly a chef these days."

 

+++

 

Bones isn't waiting for him like she said she would when he comes out of Gordon Gordon's house; instead, Cam's car is parked in the driveway.

 

"Cam, what are you doing here?"

 

"Nice to see you too, Seeley." She rolls her eyes as she opens the passenger door and gestures for him to get in. "Dr. Brennan got held up at the lab – she tried to call you several times, but her calls always went to voicemail."

 

Booth shrugs. "Shrinks get pissed when you answer the phone during a session."

 

"Because that always stopped you with Sweets." When he doesn't react, she gives him a calculating look that makes him wish she'd start the car already so she'll have something else to focus on. "Okay, big guy, I've been good and kept my nose out of your business so far, but you know I'm going to ask now why you're seeing a shrink, right? And don't feed me any bull about being forced – Dr. Wyatt is retired, so neither your doctors nor the FBI would send you to him."

 

Booth takes a deep breath; he doesn't like this, but he's beginning to realize that he likes hiding from everyone even less, and Cam's refusal to pussyfoot around the issue feels oddly refreshing. She's one of his oldest friends, so she probably deserves the truth.

 

Cam is busy backing out of Gordon Gordon's driveway and can't look at him, which makes it somewhat easier to start talking. He sticks to the cliff notes – the coma reality, waking up believing that Bones was pregnant with his child, his problems with getting the memories of two different lives mixed up – but still tries to give her the full picture because he figures it's better to get it all out at once; it's not a talk he wants to have to repeat.

 

To his own surprise, it takes him less than five minutes to lay it all out for her; is that really everything that's left of what felt like years of his life? Cam listens without interrupting, and mostly manages to keep her cool although he can tell by her widening eyes that she's pretty alarmed by what she's hearing.

 

"Wow." She gives him a quick, sidelong glance before turning her attention back to the road. "Seeley, I – I don't even know what to say, I mean, I can't imagine what that must have felt like."

 

Booth shrugs again; he wants her to understand, but he's not sure he can deal with sympathy. "I get by."

 

She remains quiet for a while and then asks, "So you still remember it all? I mean – everything from that coma fantasy, like you had really lived it?"

 

The question triggers an unpleasant flashback to his talk with Gordon Gordon, but Booth quickly pushes those thoughts away; he will need a lot of time to work out how he feels about Gordon Gordon's addiction theory. "I still remember stuff, yeah. Like… you finally cut your hair."

 

"Ha – not in this lifetime!" He's sure that Cam realizes he's trying to change the topic, and he's deeply grateful that she's willing to play along. "You've only bugged me about it for what, ten years?"

 

Booth flashes her what Bones once called his 'charm smile'. "Hey, that's just me being nostalgic – you had short hair when I first met you, after all."

 

"Because Felicia had set my ponytail on fire when I caught her smoking!"

 

"Well, at least it made her quit." God, it feels good to banter with her again – he hasn't felt this much like _himself_ in a very long time. "By the way, I also woke up thinking that you were seeing Michelle's gynecologist."

 

"Yikes!" Cam shoots him another look, this time one of horror. "And I was having a baby that he was going to deliver himself or what?"

 

"Nope, no babies." Booth sobers a little at the thought. "Angela and Hodgins were married and had a kid, though."

 

"Hm." Cam ponders that for a moment, then says lightly, "Looks like you managed to pair everyone off, huh? I mean, since you thought you and Dr. Brennan…" She falls silent as if she'd realized too late that she was about to bring up a loaded topic, although Booth isn't sure he really believes that she didn't do it on purpose.

 

The silence between them is suddenly thick with tension, and Booth keeps looking straight ahead and hopes she'll take the hint and change the topic.

 

Cam seems deep in thought, and when she finally speaks again, the earlier lightness in her tone is gone.

 

"I guess I'm finally beginning to understand why Dr. Brennan always seemed so distressed these past months. I can't even imagine – I mean, I keep trying to imagine how I would feel if I suddenly woke up and found out that I had never adopted Michelle…"

 

Booth clenches his teeth; he should probably have known that she'd cut right to the heart of the problem, because even if she isn't spelling it out, it's perfectly clear what she's really trying to tell him – that she understands what it meant to wake up from a life he had shared with Bones and find out that none of it was real, that the woman he loved considered them "just partners", and that –

 

Cam reaches over, covers his hand with hers and gives it a gentle squeeze, and the simple, friendly touch passes straight through all his defenses. It's too much – everything is suddenly too much, and he's desperate for her to _truly_ understand because he can't deal with this whole mess alone anymore.

 

"I slept with her." It comes out sounding like a confession, and that's probably fitting considering how sick this whole situation between them has become.

 

Cam gives him a quick, calculating look and squeezes his fingers again before letting go of his hand. "I hope we're not talking about Michelle any more."

 

Booth lets his head fall back and closes his eyes for a moment. "No."

 

"And – just to be clear… you actually mean our Dr. Brennan, right? The one from _this_ reality?"

 

"Yeah." He feels like a suspect in the interrogation room, but he needs to get this out, needs someone to take a bit of the burden off his shoulders before he goes crazy.

 

"Recently?"

 

"Couple of weeks." It feels both shorter and much longer, as if time worked differently in the weird parallel universe that his bedroom has turned into.

 

"And from your reaction, it wasn't how you wanted this to happen." She doesn't even question whether he wanted it to happen at all in the first place, and Booth is glad that she doesn't make him rehash stupid old pretenses.

 

"Seems to be a common theme with us." He's aware of the bitterness in his tone, but to his surprise, she doesn't call him on it; she merely shrugs.

 

"First times are overrated anyway."

 

Booth is momentarily taken aback by the flippant reply, but he plays along with profound relief. "From what I remember, ours wasn't so bad."

 

Cam snorts. "Because you were so drunk that you barely remember it at all!"

 

"Hey!" He does his best to sound affronted, and she flashes him a quick, dirty grin before her expression turns serious again.

 

"So – what happened?"

 

Booth feels a hot blush rising in his cheeks as the memories of that night force themselves to the forefront of his mind. "I… lost it."

 

It's not what he meant to say, but somehow the admission slipped out – he still cringes with embarrassment whenever he remembers his meltdown in Bones' bed, and the question what _she_ must be thinking about it has haunted him ever since. He has been through way too much in his life to stick to any kind of macho pretense about guys crying, but coming apart like that in front of her under _those_ circumstances…

 

Cam keeps her eyes on the road. " _Lost it_ as in –"

 

Booth tenses, but he has already said too much to avoid giving her all the facts now. "Came totally unglued – sobbing into her shoulder and everything. It was just too…"

 

"Real?" she suggests when he falls silent, and even though he isn't certain it's the right word to use, he just wants to be done with this topic.

 

"Maybe."

 

"And since then?"

 

"We fuck." It sounds harsh – crude even, but there really is no other way to put it, is there?

 

Cam doesn't seem overly bothered; it probably shouldn't surprise him considering some of the jokes he has heard her tell over the years. She claims it's a pathologist thing, but he has never fully bought that. "So what happened to the speeches about 'making love' that you used to give me?"

 

Booth laughs without humor. "Cam, you and I had a lot of fun together, but what we did was never 'making love'." He half expects her to take offense at his bluntness, but she surprises him again.

 

"Took you long enough to admit that."

 

She sounds downright smug, and Booth shoots her a glare that she pretends not to notice. "Not helping, Cam."

 

"I'm sorry, big guy, but I don't really see how I _can_ help you with any of that. Look, maybe after tomorrow, when all the stress about the trial is over, you and Dr. Brennan could –"

 

"Trial?" Booth instinctively sits up straight. "What are you talking about?"

 

For the first time since he got into her car, Cam seems at a loss for words. "You don't know?"

 

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

Cam mutters a curse under her breath. "She didn't tell you."

 

"No, she didn't tell me shit, so _you_ are going to tell me right now, Camille!" He knows he shouldn't get loud with her, but he's well and truly on edge now – whatever it is that Bones kept from him, it must be big if it makes Cam flounder like that.

 

Cam's eyes narrow at his tone, but she lets it go. "Dr. Brennan is testifying at Heather Taffet's trial tomorrow."

 

+++

 

Bones comes home later than usual that night, which doesn't help Booth's quickly deteriorating mood. By the time he hears her key turn in the lock, the initial shock about Cam's revelation has long worn off, and he's so furious that he doesn't even wait until she's out of her coat and boots before he confronts her.

 

"When, exactly, where you planning to tell me?"

 

It takes her a second to get what he's talking about, and the quick succession of different emotions flitting across her face would be fascinating to watch if he didn't feel ready to strangle her. Bewilderment is first; then, with dawning comprehension, comes a moment of alarm that is quickly reined in, and before the usual mask of detachment slips into place, he catches a second of something that looks like resignation.

 

"I forgot to warn Cam that you didn't know."

 

Booth's jaw drops. "That's all you have to say about it – whoops, should have told Cam to lie to you too? Don't I at least deserve an explanation?"

 

Bones calmly removes her coat, steps out of her boots and puts her purse away before she faces him again. "I didn't tell you because I assumed it would upset you."

 

"And you thought that it wouldn't upset me when I found out that you'd kept this from me? Out of curiosity, when _were_ you going to tell me?"

 

"I don't know." She hesitates for a split second, and when she continues, she doesn't sound quite so clinical any more. "Your current condition doesn't allow for long-term planning. It's next to impossible to predict what's going to happen from one day to the next, so I… was going to play it from the ear."

 

"By ear," he corrects automatically, and then wonders if she got it wrong on purpose to distract him. It doesn't seem possible that a woman who writes best-selling novels can't manage the simplest colloquialisms, does it?

 

Then what she said before the botched expression begins to register, and it puts a dampener on his indignation because he knows her well enough to understand how ill at ease she feels with everything that doesn't follow the rules of her beloved logic and rationality. Cats take to water more naturally than Bones to unpredictability – and as much as he hates to admit it, there really hasn't been anything predictable about his life since he woke up from the coma.

 

She seems to notice the shift in his mood (since when is she able to read him like that? Or has she always been and he didn't notice until now?) and obviously sees it as her chance to explain herself. "I assumed that you would feel left out if you knew that the trial was being prepared without you, and I wanted to spare you that." When he doesn't answer, she adds, as if presenting an irrefutable closing argument, "I was only trying to protect you, Booth."

 

Just like that, the anger is back; he has always hated being patronized. "That wasn't your call to make!"

 

"Like taking a bullet that was meant for me wasn't yours?" Great, now she sounds pissed off too, and the part of him that's spoiling for a fight is eager to jump at the chance, but for once his rational mind wins out. If he takes the bait, all it will lead to is another round of yelling that won't resolve anything.

 

Booth deliberately takes a step back, crosses his arms and silently counts to ten before he opens his mouth again. "Okay, point taken. Will you at least tell me now what's going on? I have a right to the truth, Bones."

 

"Very well." She crosses her arms too, mimicking his stance, and for a fleeting second he wonders what Gordon Gordon would have to say about it. "Caroline was planning to charge Heather Taffet with our abductions – yours, mine, Hodgins' – together with those of the other four survivors, and with the kidnapping and murder of the Kent brothers, but all the evidence we had gathered with Jared's help got thrown out during the first evidentiary hearing because…"

 

She falls silent when she notices his expression. "Booth, are you okay?"

 

"Fruit of the poisoned tree." Booth finds himself struggling with an odd feeling of déjà vu. "The evidence got thrown out because the warrant was obtained illegally."

 

Bones pales visibly, but she nods. "That was less than two weeks after your surgery. We were left with no evidence, so Caroline was hesitant to take the case to court. We were still trying to decide how to proceed when –"

 

"– you found the boy." He has no idea why he said that, but the images begin to solidify in his mind as he speaks. "Terrence Gilroy – the only one of her victims whose remains were still missing."

 

"Yes." She has found her composure again. "You obviously heard me when I told you about it at the hospital."

 

"You talked to me about the Gravedigger?" Booth isn't quite sure how he feels about that.

 

"It was a difficult time for me." He can see that the admission costs her some effort. "If we took our cases to trial, there was a high probability that we would set Heather Taffet free, and I couldn't allow that. You were in a coma and unable to give me your opinion on the matter, but I still went to talk to you about it because I… I felt that you should hear it." She sounds as if she were confessing something shameful, and he doesn't miss the slight blush that's creeping up her cheeks. "I should have considered that you might understand me. I apologize if I caused you distress by triggering traumatic memories at a time when you were defenseless, but – I was so used to discussing all my problems with you, and…"

 

"It's okay, Bones." He doesn't want to hear this now, doesn't want to feel his heart break for her while he's trying to stay angry at her. He knows she went through hell, but this isn't about then, it's about _now_. "The boy – Terrence Gilroy… she led you to him, right?" At her blank look, he adds, "Heather Taffet gave you a hint where to find him, didn't she?"

 

Bones frowns. "No, of course she didn't – why would she lead us to another victim of hers? The remains were found by a construction crew during the excavation of a foundation pit in –"

 

"Nottoway County, Virginia?" Booth his struck by the weird sensation of being in two places at once – because a part of him is now standing next to her in a freshly dug hole in the ground, staring at a rusty old fridge that holds the remains of a ten year-old child.

 

"Yes." She doesn't sound surprised any more that he got it right. "Terrence Gilroy's remains provided us with enough evidence against Taffet for Caroline to decide that it was safer to take only his case to court, which would also allow Hodgins and me to act as expert witnesses. Hodgins wasn't happy, but Caroline and I agreed that it was the rational way to proceed, considering that we had no admissible evidence for our own cases and that you wouldn't be able to testify at all."

 

He knows that what the said is factually true, and yet the calm statement stings. "So you and Caroline had already written me off."

 

From the way she pales again, _that_ stung too. "I never lost sight of the fact that there was a realistic chance you would wake up again. However, I knew that even if you woke up in time for the trial, Caroline wouldn't allow you to testify against Taffet."

 

She sounds almost pleading when she continues. "Booth, when she kidnapped you, you hallucinated about a dead friend of yours, and just a few months later you were diagnosed with a brain tumor. Can you imagine what the defense would have been able to do with that?"

 

She's right, of course, but Booth still feels like she punched him in the gut. His mind is awash with memories of her clinging to him as he held her and promised her that they would see this nightmare through together, that he was her partner and would be with her every step of the way. It wasn't enough then, of course, because she was already slipping away no matter how hard he tried to hold on to her – and it looks like it means even less now because she decided she didn't need him for any of it in the first place.

 

"I'm coming with you tomorrow."

 

She seems about to protest, but thinks better of it. "If that's what you want, Booth. And now excuse me, it's been a long day, and I need a shower."

 

She doesn't look at him again as she disappears into her bedroom.

 

+++

 

Almost without conscious thought, Booth follows her right up to the closed bedroom door. Something happened just now, something that feels both strange and oddly familiar – maybe because this felt like the first real conversation they've had ever since they started sleeping together, or maybe because he can't shake off the memory of what happened the last time he let her walk away from him after an encounter with Heather Taffet. He can't help feeling that there's something he should have said, or done, something that would have gotten through to her – but considering that she's been retreating further and further into her shell during the past weeks, he has no idea what it could possibly have been.

 

On a whim, Booth opens the door and enters her bedroom. He hasn't set foot in it since _that_ night, and he may very well regret that he's doing it now without her permission, but it's suddenly important to be here, in her sanctuary that doubles as her fortress whenever she wants to keep him at arm's length, although he'd be hard-pressed to say whether he wants to prove it to her or to himself that he's a part of the _entirety_ of her life.

 

The room is empty anyway. Her clothes are strewn all over the floor, which seems strangely out of character for her, and he can hear the shower running through the closed door to the master bathroom.

 

As soon as the sound registers with him, his brain is filled with a very different kind of images. A couple of mind-blowing nights weren't nearly enough to satisfy his desperate hunger for her – if anything, they intensified it because the reality of her surpasses his wildest fantasies. He knows he should focus on finally getting her to talk to him, but all he can think of is her, wet and soapy and gloriously naked, just a few feet away – and the sad truth is that there's only one kind of closeness between them that she tolerates these days while everything else will make her freeze him out at best or run for the hills at worst.

 

And yet – if this is the only way he can get close to her, at least he'll make sure that it happens on _his_ terms this time, that he's the one to invite himself into her bed after weeks of her inviting herself into his.

 

Within seconds, Booth's clothes join hers on the floor, and he gets on the bed in a half-upright position with his back against the headboard so he'll be facing her when she opens the bathroom door. He takes care to make as much noise as possible as he gets comfortable; then he pulls the sheets up to his waist, crosses his arms behind his head, and waits.

 

He's sure she must have heard him because the splashing sounds of the shower have stopped, but she doesn't come out of the bathroom. There are footsteps, and the sound of the tap being turned on and off several times, but it's obvious that she has decided to take her sweet time getting ready whether he's waiting for her next door or not. Maybe she hopes he'll go away if she makes him wait long enough, although that doesn't really sound like Bones – and she'll know it's not like him to be deterred that easily either.

 

It takes almost half an hour until the door opens, and the sight that greets him makes his breath catch in his throat. She's wearing a silky, emerald green bathrobe that he has never seen on her before; the color turns her fair skin into porcelain, and the shiny material flows around the curves of her body like water. She doesn't act surprised by his presence, merely inclines her head a little as if in mild curiosity, and even though she's looking straight at him, her eyes don't give away what she's thinking.

 

She approaches the bed, moving with the grace of a cat on the prowl, and pulls the sheets that cover him away in a single, swift move. It takes him by surprise, but he remains motionless as she looks him up and down with the same kind of intensity she would muster for the bones on her table. He's a little embarrassed by the scrutiny – his arousal is very, very noticeable, and even though he knows he's got nothing to be ashamed of in that area, he isn't used to being appraised like that – but stays perfectly still and holds her gaze in a way that will probably look like a challenge to her.

 

Her eyes never leave his while she lazily unties her robe, revealing an expanse of bare, creamy skin, and Booth drinks in the sight of her as she puts a knee on the bed and crawls towards him on all fours. He still doesn't move, even though she's already on top of him with her knees straddling him and her breasts only inches away from his face. She's still wearing the robe, although the only thing it covers now are her arms and shoulders; it flows around her like a cape, and when she raises her arms and braces them against the headboard, the soft fabric encompasses them both in a way that almost feels like she's creating a space that is separate from the rest of the world and only belongs to them.

 

Then she presses her hips against his, covering the underside of his erection in her wetness, and every attempt at putting a romantic spin on this goes right out the window as all of his senses go into overdrive. _Holy shit, she's dripping wet already_. He desperately wants to kiss her, but that would mean breaking eye contact, and there's something in her gaze that holds him transfixed. They've been in this exact position, right here in this bed, once before, but now she's looking at him like she _sees_ him, like there's nothing in the world that's of interest to her right now but him.

 

He reaches for her, and her lips twist into a feral smile when his hands begin to roam over her body. She raises herself up a little as she leans forwards, and even though it makes the delicious pressure of her core against his cock disappear, it also buries his face in her chest. Booth forgets about eye contact as her breast fill his entire field of vision, close enough to taste and kiss and suck in all those ways that he knows will drive her crazy. She sighs, and moans, and then cries out, and when she bucks into him, rubbing her slippery heat against his stomach, he knows he's going to lose his mind if he doesn't get to be inside her _right_ _now_.

 

He lets out a whimper of protest when she takes his right hand and guides it between her legs. They both know she's more than ready, and he doesn't want to waste any more time – but obviously she wants him to get her off first before he gets his turn, and at the moment he would do pretty much anything she asks of him as long as it means he'll get to fuck her afterwards.

 

She groans when he pushes two fingers into her; with his face still nestled between her breasts, he can feel the vibrations deep in her chest, and it makes him wonder how it will be to feel her come like that, with every moan and cry amplified against his skin. If this is what she wants, he's determined to give her the best orgasm she ever got from anyone's hands on her. He presses his thumb against her clit, setting a rhythm of slow, sure strokes in tandem with the movement of his fingers inside her, and she groans again, this time much louder.

 

Her weight shifts a little as she lets go of the headboard, but Booth is too preoccupied to pay much attention to the way she seems to fumble with something in her pocket. He startles when he feels her hands on his cock that is nestled against her buttocks, and the sudden, delicious contact is too much of a distraction at first to get what she's doing. Dawning comprehension comes with the unexpected, and rather unwelcome touch of latex against his skin – she's reaching behind her to put a condom on him, and from the wet sounds of slick rubber it's one of those pre-lubricated ones. She told him that she's on the pill, and he has literal first-hand knowledge that lubrication really won't be an issue for her, so –

 

Then he realizes what she's doing, and he feels like his heart stops for a second. _Jesus Christ, she wants me to fuck her up the ass._

 

In an instant, his body is on fire. This has been one of his most secret fantasies ever since Rebecca's experimental phase – they only did it once because she didn't like it much, but it felt absolutely incredible, and even though he never had the nerve to ask for it with any of his later girlfriends, it was the kind of experience that stays with a guy for the rest of this life.

 

God, she's really doing this – she grabs the headboard with both hands and positions herself, and his mind goes completely blank when she sinks down on his cock, taking him in inch by torturous inch. The only thoughts he's still capable of are _tight_ and _hot_ and _God, Bones_ ; he digs the fingers of his free hand into her hips and, on pure instinct, plants his feet on the mattress and bends his knees to push up and into her. Before he really knows what's happening, he's sheathed fully inside her, and she makes a sound deep in throat that could mean pain, pleasure, or both as she starts moving.

 

He still remembers how slowly and carefully Rebecca made him go back then, but Bones doesn't seem to have any such concerns, and the realization that she must have enough prior experience with this to be comfortable now sends a blinding flash of jealousy through him. Christ, he hopes he'll never find out who the jerk was who got to know her like this before him (if it was Sully and his freakishly oversized dick he'll have to hunt him down and kill him) – but then he's struck by the thought that she must have prepared herself for this when she heard him come in, and the image of her standing naked in front of her bathroom mirror with a bottle of Astroglide and her fingers up her ass makes him lose the rest of his self-control.

 

He bucks into her as she rocks back and forth, setting a mind-blowing rhythm of impaling herself on his cock and on his fingers, and he tightens his grip on her, working her clit and that sweet spot deep inside her to make sure she's right there with him because there's no way he's going to last.

 

_Nothing_ has ever felt like being inside her now. All the blood in his body seems to rush towards his groin; his balls are tight and heavy, and then she _clenches_ around his cock as he feels the muscles that grip his fingers inside her begin to flutter. His orgasm hits him like a freight train; he cries out, and so does she as he thrusts upwards one final time and clutches her to him as he starts pulsing into her in a wild rush of sensation. They've never managed to come together before, but now her whole body tightens as she spasms and quivers deep inside, and then they're both _right there_ , tumbling over the edge together, their moans and cries intermingling as they both let go.

 

He comes so hard that he almost blacks out – he has always considered it a stupid figure of speech before, but now grey dots are filling his field of vision, and the sounds of his racing heart and of the blood rushing in his ears are louder than even their voices were just seconds before. Bones collapses on top of him, utterly spent as well, and it takes her a moment until she's able to disentangle herself from him. The cool air hits his overheated skin with almost painful intensity – he wants her back, wants the warmth of her touch, the firmness of her body back against his own, but he feels completely boneless and barely able to move.

 

All he manages is to turn his head and look at her. She's lying right next to him, her sweat-soaked bathrobe tangled around her and her hair sticking wetly to her flushed face, and she has never been more beautiful to him than she is right now. To his amazement, she doesn't turn away; her expression is open, almost vulnerable as she holds his gaze while she's gasping for air just like he is.

 

"Wow."

 

His awestruck tone makes her burst out laughing. It's like the spell of silence that kept them apart for so long has been broken, and suddenly there's a spark between them, a tentative, precious connection as they look at each other, panting and laughing breathlessly as if they both couldn't believe what just happened.

 

A damp strand of hair falls into her face, and without thinking, Booth reaches out and brushes it away. "We're good together, aren't we?"

 

The words are soft, barely above a whisper, and yet they seem to ring in the sudden silence. Her eyes turn overly bright, and for the second time today, he gets to witness a rapid succession of conflicting emotions – joy, hope, fear, pain, sorrow, all flashing across her face too quickly to be sure of any of them. Then her expression shutters, leaving nothing but the blank look behind that he has come to dread during the past weeks.

 

She hastily pulls away, gets up and disappears into the bathroom before he has time to fully process what's going on. A few seconds later, he hears the shower running, and Booth flings an arm across his eyes and feels like screaming with frustration.

 

After a moment of pulling himself together, he scrambles to his feet as well and, ignoring the protest from every muscle in his body, staggers out of the room without bothering to pick up his clothes. Let her stumble over them when she finally comes out of hiding – maybe they'll remind her that she can't just wash away every trace of him when she's done with him.

 

There's no denying that he needs a shower too, but when he finally makes it to the guest bathroom, he turns the temperature to the lowest possible setting and then stays under the icy spray until his teeth are beginning to chatter. His knees feel like rubber, and he's ready to collapse on the spot, but there's no way he's going to fall asleep now so she can go back to pretending in the morning.

 

He has no idea what's going on with her, but he knows that _something_ happened between them tonight, and he isn't going to give in to his exhaustion until he has finally gotten some answers because he can't take this twisted dance any more.

 

+++

 

He fully expects to find her bedroom door locked, but to his utter surprise, the door is open when he steps out of his room. The cool breeze wafting through it into the living room tells him that she opened her bedroom window in spite of the chilly night outside – as if she were trying to get rid of the lingering smell of sex together with the memory of it.

 

That's when he spots her, curled into a ball in one of the armchairs in the semi-darkness of the living room. She's got her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them; instead of the green bathrobe, she's wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants, and she looks so lost that he briefly wonders if she can't bring herself to return to her bedroom and isn't sure where else she's supposed to go right now.

 

"Hey." He keeps his voice low, but she startles nevertheless, and for a moment, her eyes go impossibly wide when he steps closer.

 

"Bones, we need to talk."

 

The silence that follows Booth's announcement is heavy with tension. She turns her face to the side, casting it in shadow, and he fleetingly wonders if she's trying to escape into the darkness now like he used to do during those overwhelming first days after he woke up in a hospital bed.

 

Then she reaches towards the lamp by the coffee table and switches it on, creating a small island of warm yellow light in the gloominess of the room. She still doesn't look at him, but it isn't lost on him how carefully she moves, and he derives a moment of almost atavistic satisfaction from the thought that he left a mark on her that she can't wash off, that she'll be thinking of him whenever she shifts in her seat on the witness stand tomorrow because she's still sore from his cock inside her.

 

Then his conscious mind catches up, and the memory of those childhood mornings when he saw his mother walk around the kitchen with small, cautious steps and a pinched expression that he didn't understand hits him with the force of a punch in the gut and leaves him with a horrified feeling of disgust at himself. Without thinking, he takes a step closer and reaches for her, desperate to prove to himself and to her that he's not _that_ kind of man, that the only reason he wants to be near her is to protect her and keep her safe.

 

She stiffens when he touches her shoulder, and then says in that measured tone he has come to fear and hate over the last few weeks, "Please don't."

 

Before he can react, she's on her feet and takes a step back so the armchair she was sitting in is between them like a barrier for her to hide behind. The lost expression on her face is gone; the cool, impassive mask is back, and the rush of frustrated anger it causes makes him forget his earlier contrition.

 

"Dammit, Bones, stop pushing me away whenever I try to get through to you! You're fine and dandy with letting me screw you six ways from Sunday, but you won't talk to me or even really _look_ at me the rest of the time, and I can't take it any more!"

 

There – he has finally forced her to confront the reality of what they're doing, has torn down the wall of silence that separates them, and even though he has no idea what he just set in motion, he feels like he can breathe freely again for the first time in weeks.

 

She crosses her arms and raises her chin in a gesture of defiance that stands in stark contrast to the way her eyes are suddenly shining with tears. "I understand."

 

"I – what?" The calm statement makes absolutely no sense to him. "What do you mean, you understand? What kind of answer is that?"

 

A slight frown creases her forehead. "I assumed you were telling me that you wish to discontinue our sexual activities."

 

Booth is beginning to feel like they're holding two separate conversations because he has no idea how she could have gotten _that_ from what he said. "Bones, I'm not talking about sex, okay? I'm asking you why you keep me at arm's length whenever we _aren't_ in bed together, because I'm sick of you shutting me out the moment I'm no longer inside you!" When she doesn't reply, he adds in a softer tone, "Look, you got this all backwards. I don't mean that I no longer want you, I mean that I want more than this – don't get me wrong, being with you is incredible, but I don't just want a quick fuck whenever you've got an itch to scratch. I want to make love to you, and –"

 

"No, you don't!" All of a sudden, her icy composure is gone; her eyes are flashing with something that could be anger, hurt, or maybe both. "You told me you want me, and I believe you, but don't you dare romanticize it so you can feel better about yourself!"

 

He recoils as if she had slapped him, and he's so furious now thathe throws caution to the wind. "Don't _you_ dare tell me how I feel! Is it so impossible for you to accept that I love you?"

 

" _Stop saying that_!" She actually claps her hands over her ears as if she were trying to block out his words, and such a display of illogical behavior can only mean that she's very close to losing it completely. "You want to know why I don't look at you when we aren't having intercourse, Booth? Because you look right through me whenever I try – and I know it's irrational, but the only times I feel like you really see me is when we are having sex! Do you really think I'm that desperate for physical gratification that I keep coming back to your bed almost every night? I feel like an impostor in my own life when you look at me and see somebody else in my place, and the only time you seem content to be with _me_ is when you're fucking me!"

 

He has never heard her use any kind of profanity before, and for a moment he asks himself if he isn't caught in another nightmare after all because nothing she just said makes sense. "What the hell are you talking about? Who else am I supposed to see instead of you?"

 

"The mother of your unborn child, the woman who let you build a home for her, who was going to ask you to marry her one day – need I go on?"

 

Booth's insides turn to ice. She can't possibly have guessed how in that other place, he had jokingly told her that she'd be the one to propose to him one day – he's absolutely certain that he has never breathed a word about it to anyone, so the fact that she _knows_ can only mean one thing.

 

" _You read my book_?"

 

Her furious expression slowly morphs into one of bewilderment. "You said I could!"

 

Booth finds himself speechless. Never in a million years would he have thought that she was reading his memories... Jesus Christ, he bared his soul in those pages, held nothing back because he was sure that they were safe from prying eyes, that she of all people could be trusted to respect his privacy –

 

She obviously doesn't know how to deal with his shocked silence. "Booth, I even asked you if you were really comfortable with me reading your entries – I thought it was unlike you to allow me access to your most private thoughts, but you insisted that it was okay, remember?"

 

_"I'll try working it out, and then I'll write it down in the book, and – if you want, you can read it."_

_"You'd really be okay with that?"_

_"Yeah, sure."_

 

The memory of their conversation after the initial session with Gordon Gordon is suddenly fresh in his mind, and he realizes with growing horror that his words must indeed have sounded like a general permission to her when all he wanted to say was that he would let her read one single entry.

 

He barely sounds like himself when he finally finds his voice again. "I never wanted you to read any of that, Bones."

 

Her face turns ashen. "But you said – you even left the book it in my desk drawer, and I thought… I thought it was easier for you to let me read it for myself so you wouldn't have to tell me to my face."

 

Booth slowly sits down on the couch; it's not a conscious decision, but his knees are giving out. He knows he should say something, but his mind is strangely blank; all he can think of are the things he wrote in the book, all those moments he never would have shared with anyone –

 

She takes a step towards him as if to sit down next to him, but thinks better of it and returns to the armchair instead.

 

"Booth." When has he last heard her speak to him in that gentle tone? When she had to tell him at the hospital that they weren't going to have a baby? "You've always insisted that it's important for me to open up, but you've never been comfortable with sharing your own feelings – we had been partners for a year when you could first bring yourself to tell me anything about your Army experiences, and I still wouldn't know about the fact that your father was an alcoholic if Jared hadn't shown up last year. Therefore, I thought that allowing me access to your book was your way of… of getting me to understand without having to tell me directly."

 

She must realize from his blank look that he has no clue what she means by that, so she presses on. "At first I was glad – I considered it a sign of trust that you wanted to share your memories with me, but then I started reading, and… I began to understand why you were reluctant to discuss them with me."

 

"What?" This is getting more bizarre by the minute, and a part of him is still clinging to the hope that he's going to wake up any moment now. "What did you think I didn't want to tell you?" It makes no sense – yes, considering how she tends to react to any mention of love and relationships, he wouldn't have given her the details of their happy life together for fear of spooking her, but he _has_ told her back at the hospital that they'd been a couple in the coma reality, hasn't he?

 

She bites her lip, and he can see that she has to force herself to answer him. "Booth, for weeks everything you wrote was about memories of me hurting you! There were several different scenarios in which I left you when you would have needed me – you even believed me capable of letting you go back to war without even trying to stop you! Did you… did you assume that it was some kind of payback for the fact that you didn't stop Zack from going to Iraq? That I blame you for what happened to him after he came back?"

 

"What? No!" The idea wouldn't even have occurred to him – Zack is still a part of a half-forgotten past for him (and he only realizes now that he completely forgot about his offer to accompany Bones during her next visit to the loony bin), and he never would have made the connection between Zack and that painful memory of their conversation at the diner after he showed her the letter from the Army.

 

She doesn't seem to have heard him anyway. "Is that how you see me? Is that what you feel I'm doing to you, Booth? I know I've hurt you in the past, but we've been partners for years, and I thought you trusted me to have your back. Have I _ever_ abandoned you when you needed me?"

 

Stunned horror is slowly giving way to rising irritation at being put on the spot like that, and he opens his mouth to remind her of Guatemala, of Maluku, of… a dozen other occasions _that never happened_ , and the realization leaves him reeling. All this time he has been terrified of sending her running, of pushing her too far and watching her board another plane that would take her away from him, and he never considered until now that he has never really seen her do it before.

 

He realizes too late that he shouldn't have answered her question with nothing but silence when he sees her distraught expression harden. "You know, I _was_ tempted to leave when the doctors told me their initial diagnosis after your first seizures. Before they discovered the staph infection that aggravated your symptoms, they assumed them to be the result of brain damage, and they prepared me for the possibility that as your medical proxy, I would eventually have to decide whether to keep you on life support or not. I wanted to leave then, Booth."

 

Her voice is shaking, and it's not just from anger. "I wanted to catch the next plane and put half the world between us so they couldn't force me to make that decision. But I _didn't_ , because I knew that if our roles were reversed, you would stay by my side until the end and fight to keep me alive as long as humanly possible, and I could do no less."

 

That, finally, pulls him out of his stupor. "Bones, it's not like I deliberately made up any of that stuff – I was in a coma, for God's sake, I had no control over what went on in my brain!"

 

"Booth, as much as I dislike psychology, I still acknowledge that dreams are a manifestation of a person's subconscious, so your brain wouldn't have been able to come up with anything that wasn't already there!" She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm down. "There's one memory – one that must be very important to you because you described it in great detail – in which you asked me to begin a romantic relationship with you. Do you remember that?"

 

Booth nods, cheeks burning with embarrassment; as much as the remnants of that life have begun to fade, there's no way he could ever forget the devastating moment on the steps of the Hoover.

 

"In your memory, I refused because I claimed that I was unable to change, and you accepted that claim as a valid reason why we couldn't be together."

 

"It's not like you gave me a choice." He knows he shouldn't get angry again, but the factual knowledge that it never happened doesn't ease the sting of pain and humiliation that accompanies this specific memory.

 

"That's not what I mean." The clinical tone is back, which means she either has herself under control again or is close to losing it completely. "Do you remember what I told you about entropy, that evening we went ice skating together after you suffered a concussion during a hockey match? _Everything_ changes, Booth – and every living being changes constantly, due to both its own development and to outward influences. I accept that, and I also accept the fact that humans influence and change each other through social interaction, but I – before reading your book, I never would have assumed that you _want_ me to change."

 

Booth is quickly reaching the end of his patience. "Can you please stop blaming me for the stuff that went on in my head while I was out cold? I told you I didn't choose to come up with any of it!" He's getting heartily sick of this interrogation, and the growing frustration makes him reckless. "If I had ever asked you to give us a chance as a couple, Bones, what _would_ you have said?"

 

"I don't know!" She jumps up from her seat and starts pacing as if she suddenly couldn't face him any more. "The question never arose because I was certain you would never ask! I knew you were physically attracted to me during our first case, but after we became partners, you always emphasized that it was all we were – that there were people you couldn't sleep with, and lines that we couldn't cross, and I understood perfectly well what you meant by that. I had gotten to know you well enough by then to realize that you want very different things from life than I do, and that our views on relationships differ greatly, so I accepted the fact that you weren't interested in me romantically. Our partnership and friendship had become very precious to me, and I should have been content with that instead of asking too much of you after I had been forced to realize how difficult it would be for me to deal with losing you…"

 

She falls silent for a moment, as if she had forgotten what she was about to say, and she mentally seems to change tack when she continues. "I never doubted that you care about me, but I assumed that I wasn't what you're looking for in a romantic partner. Besides, it was the rational choice to keep things professional between us considering that we worked together, so it came as a surprise to me that your subconscious obviously blames me for the lack of romance in our personal relationship when you have always been the one to draw lines and insist on professional boundaries."

 

He _is_ dreaming, isn't he? Because there's no way she's really saying these things to him, that she's really telling him… "Bones, are you saying that you _do_ want to be with me?"

 

"I'm saying that it doesn't matter what I want, Booth, because you've made it abundantly clear that you don't want to be with _me_."

 

That brings him to his feet as well; he can't allow the sudden, unexpected rush of desperate hope to be crushed by whatever rationalization she has come up with. "How can you say that after reading everything I wrote? We were happy together, you and I, and we – "

 

"That wasn't _me_ , Booth!" Her voice is getting louder again. "I can't believe you still don't realize that! You started writing down all those happy little family scenes once we began sleeping together, and I thought it was your way of telling me why sex is the only thing you want from me since I will never be the woman you keep longing for in your dreams!"

 

" _What_?" God, how can a genius like her be so stupid? "You lock yourself in the bathroom the moment I try to talk to you, and you tell me that _I'm_ the one who only wants sex?"

 

"Do you think it's all _I_ want from you?" Her eyes are swimming in tears again, but she refuses to let them fall. "I want my friend and partner back, the man who appreciated me for who I am instead of imagining a manifestation of his own desires in my place! I want my life back the way it was before you got sick, when I was still ignorant of the fact that you want me to be someone I'm not! I may not be good at understanding people, Booth, but even I can tell that you see _her_ whenever you look at me outside the bedroom, and I left today because I couldn't stand the thought that she was now invading the last place where _I_ have been good enough for you until now!"

 

Booth feels the cold fingers of fear tightening around him. This is bad, this is _really_ bad, and unless he manages to convince her right now how wrong she is, there's a chance he'll lose her for good. "Bones, there's no 'her'! Look, maybe you don't like the stuff my brain came up with, but the woman I was happy with… it's you, Bones, it has always been you!"

 

She laughs, and it sounds so bitter that it sends a chill down his spine. "Booth, there was nothing of me in those happy memories of yours! There was the home you were building, the baby you were excited about – but the woman in those scenes was an utterly generic character; she could just as well have been Rebecca, or… or Nurse Burley, and it wouldn't have made a difference. I know you're traditional when it comes to the things you want from life, so it didn't surprise me that your happily ever after comes with a metaphorical white picket fence, but are you honestly telling me that you can see _me_ in that kind of scenario?"

 

She takes a step closer, and Booth has to fight down the urge to shrink back. "There was a scene that you described several times, and it had me baking _pie_ in our kitchen!"

 

His confused look only fuels her agitation. "I hate pie, Booth! I've never liked cooked fruit, and you know it – but you still imagined me preparing a dish that _you_ love in spite of the fact that I would refuse to eat it! You could have chosen a vast variety of foods that we would both have enjoyed, but your subconscious insisted on making me conform to your tastes even if the choice ran contrary to mine!"

 

She visibly reins herself in before she continues. "I don't want to lose you, but if that is what you want of me – if you can only imagine being with me if you can fit me into your rigid concept of a perfect life – then I've lost you already. I'm aware of my shortcomings, but I'm not going to change who I am to conform to anybody else's ideals, not even yours."

 

"You got all that from pie?" Booth's head is beginning to spin. "Bones, you realize that's crazy, right? Look, I get that you're mad at me, but –"

 

"I'm not." The anger is gone from her tone; now she sounds tired and resigned. "I know that none of this is your fault, Booth, and that it was irrational of me to feel hurt and rejected when I first read those scenes. You are who you are, and you don't have to justify your dreams and desires, but you… _we_ will both have to accept the fact that the woman you're dreaming of isn't me."

 

"Christ, Bones." Booth sinks back into the couch, desperately trying to think of something that will make her understand how far off the mark she is. "Are you really willing to throw away everything we have just because a dream I had is too traditional for you?"

 

"This isn't just a manifestation of your subconscious any longer." Bones has found her composure again, and he knows it's a bad sign because it means she has made up her mind. "It's the life you long for, that you actively keep fantasizing about – tell me the truth, Booth, if you got the chance to go back to that place, would you do it?"

 

Booth freezes like a deer in the headlights. It's the one question he never wanted to hear her ask, and the fact that there's no answer he feels ready to give her makes him defensive. "What do you want me to say, Bones? Do you expect me to apologize for the fact that I want a real family?"

 

He knows the moment the words are out that he made a mistake. She flinches as if he'd struck her, and he suddenly remembers with frightening clarity how he stood outside the diner with her and told her that there was more than one kind of family. Years of friendship, of partnership, of "guy hugs" and trust and mutual support – whether he wanted to or not, he has just thrown it all back in her face, and nothing he says now will be enough to undo the damage.

 

"No, of course not." Her tone is even; the clinical mask is firmly back in place, and he knows for certain that he isn't going to get through it any more tonight. "I have to testify at a very important trial tomorrow, so I need to go to bed now – and since you wish to accompany me, you should do the same. Good night, Booth."

 

She doesn't look at him again as she disappears into her bedroom, and Booth stares at the door she closed behind her and thinks that if this whole conversation was a dream, he really, _really_ wants to wake up now.

 

+++

 

Booth isn't sure how he expected Bones to behave this morning, but 'perfectly normal' definitely wouldn't have been any of his guesses. It's as if the previous evening never happened; she's completely focused on the upcoming trial, and there's no hesitation or undertone whenever she talks to him as they both get ready to leave.

 

He keeps watching her out of the corner of his eye during the drive to the courthouse. He has barely slept last night, which is hardly surprising considering the day he has had yesterday, and her calm demeanor seems so out of place that it feels downright surreal. He can't repress the memories of that evening she confessed her nightmares to him, when he held her and promised her that they weren't going to let Taffet win, and they leave a bitter taste in his mouth – not only because they remind him that Gordon Gordon thinks he's addicted to these memories, but also because it's obvious that Bones never even considered turning to him for support, given that she didn't even want him to know of the trial.

 

By the time they reach the courthouse, he's so ill at ease that he's beginning to regret his decision to come here today – and then she has to make things worse because she mistakes his tense silence for nervousness.

 

"Booth, there's no need to be concerned. The evidence we have against Taffet is conclusive, and I'm certain that the jury will find her guilty of Terrence Gilroy's murder."

 

She probably believes that she's being reassuring, but her words are dripping with condescension, and Booth curses the angry blush he can feel creeping up his cheeks. After everything she threw at him last night, she now thinks that he needs to be _coddled_?

 

"Whatever." He hates that he sounds like a petulant teenager, but this is neither the time nor the place to tell her where she can stick her patronizing attitude. She raises her eyebrows, but before she can say anything, Caroline swoops down on her and drags her away, leaving Booth to fend for himself until the trial begins.

 

He ends up squeezed between Angela and Hodgins in one of the uncomfortable gallery benches; it's not the seat he would have chosen, but the two seem determined to keep him as a buffer between them. At least they bring him up to speed while they're all waiting for the trial to start; both of them have already testified because the technical stuff has been covered during earlier sessions. Cam and Bones will be the last expert witnesses before the closing arguments, and if everything goes as planned, they might even get a verdict today.

 

Booth just nods along to Angela's chatter and Hodgins' nervous babbling; he can see that the bug guy is tense as a bowstring, but it's nothing compared to how _he_ feels when Heather Taffet is escorted into the courtroom. He knew this moment would come, of course, but knowing isn't the same as being in the same room with the woman whose head exploded right before his eyes, whose shattered skull he saw spinning on Bones' work table. He's aware that Taffet is a murderer several times over, that she almost killed him, and Bones and Hodgins, but he can't muster any hatred for her right now; the whole thing is too unreal, too _wrong_ for him to feel anything but a diffuse kind of dread that the world might be about to tumble off its axis.

 

Before he got into a fight with Bones over the issue, he hadn't thought of the Gravedigger trial in a very long time, but now the memories are rushing back in, and the suffocating sensation of impending doom increases with the onslaught of images in his mind. His world _did_ fall apart the last time Bones had to face Heather Taffet in a courtroom, and he can't help wondering if last night wasn't the first indication that history is about to repeat itself.

 

And yet Taffet seems… _smaller_ than in his memories. She is indeed defending herself, and she tries every trick in the book to make Bones and Cam slip up during their testimonies, but it's fairly obvious that she's getting desperate. There's none of the smug, disdainful superiority that Booth remembers; this isn't the scary nemesis his mind made her out to be, just a common criminal who turned out to be a lot less smart than she thought she was, and who is beginning to realize that she's going down.

 

Booth is trembling with nerves when Bones takes the stand, but she never falters, never gives Taffet the slightest opening. She's clinical and precise in her description of Terrence Gilroy's injuries, and the information about his assailant that they provide, but it's her report of the boy's last moments, of his desperate struggle against his killer, that really gets to the jury and forces Booth to admit that she knew what she was talking about when she told him that the outcome of the trial was a sure thing.

 

He wants to be proud of her, of her fearless fight for the victim that is the only vindication she'll ever get for everything _she_ went through at Taffet's hands, but watching her testimony leaves him with a strangely lost feeling of disconnect instead. This used to be _them_ , this battle for those who couldn't speak for themselves any more, but now he's here on the sidelines while she's holding her own without him, without as much as a glance in his direction because she's doing just fine without any kind of support from him.

 

She does look at him when she leaves the witness stand, but he can't read her expression, and given that last night proved how much he sucks at reading her at all these days, Booth figures he shouldn't even try. He listens to Cam's testimony without really hearing anything she's saying; his thoughts are beginning to drift, and Booth lets them since it doesn't make a difference whether he's paying attention or not.

 

Caroline and Taffet's closing arguments pass in a strange kind of blur. Booth does his best to detach himself as much as possible from everything that's going on, and he holds on to that detachment when he finds himself in the middle of a gaggle of squints a little later. They're all gathered in the cafeteria, and none of them seem to notice that Booth is barely saying two words while they're waiting for the verdict; they're too busy discussing details of the case and patting Bones and Cam on the back for ripping Taffet apart in their testimonies. Booth is a little surprised that Sweets isn't with them, but he doesn't ask, and nobody else seems to find the shrink's absence odd. Caroline wanders by in an uncharacteristically jovial mood, but to Booth's relief she's too busy to hang around and soon leaves the squints to their own devices. Hodgins is brimming with nervous energy, but he, too, seems convinced that they've got this one in the bag, and Booth wonders why he can't bring himself to care considering that he went through the same ordeal as Hodgins.

 

Then they're called back to the courtroom for the verdict, and Bones sits next to him and squeezes his hand when Taffet is found guilty of kidnapping and murder. She asks him to come with her to the ensuing squinty celebration, but he just wants to get away from everything, from _everyone_ for a while until this strange sensation of surrealism passes and he feels like he has a place in the world again.

 

"Bones, you go ahead and party with the squints, but I – I'm pretty beat, so I'm going to head home."

 

She hesitates, and he can see that she wants to argue, but at last she just nods. "Okay. I'll drive you home and –"

 

"No, it's fine." He isn't sure why it's so important to get away from her, but the last thing he wants is another half hour of awkward silence in her car. "I'll just take a cab."

 

The irony of his statement doesn't hit him until he hears himself say the words. Suddenly he's _there_ again, in the street outside the Founding Fathers, and Bones is pulling her hand out of his grasp, pulling away from him and climbing into another cab that will take her out of his life for God knows how long.

 

Christ, he's so sick of the jokes the universe has decided to play on him.

 

"Booth, don't be silly, it's no problem at all for me to –"

 

"Leave him to me, chèrie, I'll be heading home to start preparing for Taffet's appeal anyway."

 

For a woman of her size, Caroline moves with surprising stealth, because Booth never noticed her approach until she spoke up behind him. He doesn't care right now, though; he's just grateful that she came to his rescue, and on the way home he does his best to answer her blatantly personal question about his recovery without making it too obvious that he's not really saying anything. He's sure she notices, but she doesn't comment; she just drops him off at Bones' place with an admonition to take care of his partner when she wakes up with a hangover tomorrow, and Booth bites his tongue to keep himself from reminding her that he's hardly in a position to take care of anyone these days.

 

+++

 

Booth doesn't get much sleep that night. He's awake when Bones tiptoes past his bedroom door in the wee hours of the morning, and the few times he manages to doze off, he's woken by another bout of unpleasant dreams in which he's surrounded by the taunting images of his worst enemies. Taffet, and Jake Broadsky, and even that faceless, ever-present adversary who has been haunting his nightmares for months – they're all here, mocking him for giving in so easily, for creating monsters in his dreams while he left others to do the real fighting in the world of the living.

 

A little before six in the morning, he finally gives up on sleep and stumbles out of his room in search for some coffee to clear his mind. There's no light anywhere in the apartment, and he's sure that Bones is going to sleep in today, so he doesn't bother to get dressed even though the cool air makes the bare skin of his arms and chest break out in goosebumps.

 

He reaches for the light switch in the kitchen, and then freezes when the flare of the overhead light reveals Bones clutching a coffee mug and blinking owlishly in the sudden brightness. He has no idea why she was standing here in the semi-darkness of the early winter morning, but he doesn't waste another thought on the question when her appearance registers with him.

 

She doesn't look hung over, just sleepy and exhausted; her damp hair proves that she just stepped out of the shower, and – _Christ, have mercy_ – she's wearing that silky, emerald green bathrobe again.

 

In a flash, the memories of last night are so fresh in his mind that he can almost feel her all over him once more, and he suddenly wishes he was wearing more than a flimsy pair of pajama pants because he can feel his blood rushing south as a fierce, angry kind of desire rises within him. She threw it all back in his face last night, so why can't he stop wanting her, can't he just walk away now that he knows what she's going to make of it if she notices?

 

"Good morning." The sound of her voice startles him; for some reason, he was sure she would remain silent, but of course this is the daylight world, when the things they do at night no longer count because she locks them away in one of the neat little boxes in her mind, when she doesn't feel the need to hide behind a wall of silence any more. "We missed you at the celebration last night."

 

He has no idea what kind of answer expects to that, so he just shrugs. "It's not like I had anything to do with the outcome."

 

Her eyes flash with something that almost looks like anger, but it's gone so quickly that he's sure he read her wrong – it's been known to happen a lot lately, after all. "Booth, putting Heather Taffet away concerned you just as much as it concerned our entire team."

 

_Our_ team. The words sting like a puff of cold air on a broken tooth, and maybe that's why his reply comes out harsher than he intended. "You were doing fine without me, Bones."

 

"What is that supposed to mean?" He didn't misread her after all; she's well and truly pissed off. She puts the coffee mug on the counter and stalks towards him, her voice rising with every word. "Do you really think we're holding it against you that you couldn't help with this case? You were sick, for crying out loud, it wasn't your fault!"

 

"Maybe I'm holding it against me, okay?" He's aware that he's getting louder too, but there's no way he'll allow her to patronize him again. " _Our_ team doesn't exist any more, Bones – you've got _your_ team, and it looks like you all did a great job, but I'm just the guy who gets to watch from a distance because he can't sort out the mess in his own head, so stop acting like everything is okay just because Taffet got what she deserved!"

 

Her eyes narrow. "So that's it? Just because you've always defined your masculinity by being the one who keeps others safe, who solves every problem, you can't be glad that the world is now safe from the woman who nearly cost us both our lives because _you_ had no part in it?"

 

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" God, her anthropological crap is the last thing he needs right now. "I don't –"

 

"That's what you told me, remember?" She's so close now that he can smell the scent of coffee on her breath. "You said that I help you 'being a guy' by allowing you to fix things for me! I wasn't aware until now that the opposite is true for you as well, that you feel less of a man if there's something _I_ get to fix for both of us!" She presses herself against him, trapping him between herself and the kitchen counter, and there's no way she can miss his erection through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

 

Booth reacts without thinking; it's pure instinct that makes him grab her and turn her around with enough force to slam her ass against the counter; now he's pressed against _her_ with his hips grinding into hers, and the sensation is enough to make him lose what little is left of his rational mind.

 

"You of all people should know that my _masculinity_ isn't an issue here, Bones."

 

"Then why do you keep acting like you have something to prove?" Her voice lowers to a purr that sounds both dangerous and incredibly erotic. "But by all means, go ahead and prove it – be a man, and – "

 

He shuts her up with a fierce, brutal kiss before she can say more. He can't believe that she's really doing this, that she has the gall to _taunt_ him – but at the same time, it brings back memories of a day at the shooting range when, a lifetime ago, an infuriating young scientist challenged him to be a cop and to prove to her that for all her smartypants superiority, he was more than able to hold his own against her. He wanted to slam her against the wall and fuck her into silence back then, but for a million reasons he had to keep himself in check. Now there's nothing holding him back any longer, and he lifts her up on the counter and unties her bathrobe with one hand while he pulls his pants down with the other.

 

The voice of sanity at the back of his mind reminds him that he's walking into another minefield, that this isn't like their previous encounters because there's no cover of night, no mantle of silence that will allow them to pretend afterwards that it never happened; all their cards are on the table, and there's no telling what will come of it if he loses his head now, but he's enraged enough not to care any more.

 

She isn't ready when he pushes into her with a quick, hard stroke. She's barely wet yet, and she feels so tight that he cries out from the onslaught of sensation, but in spite of her pained hiss she grabs his shoulders and wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer and trying to match the rhythm of his hips pumping into her.

 

He doesn't wait for her to catch up, though. His brain is swimming in that same dull, red haze he remembers from their first night together, and like then he sets a harsh, furious pace that won't give her time to catch her breath. She makes a low, strangled sound at the back of her throat, and Booth thinks of her performance on the stand today, all prim and proper and icily professional – nobody who saw her today would believe that he has had her writhing under him every night, that he has heard her scream and pant and moan with unashamed abandon while he fucked her until she stopped caring about anything in the world except his cock inside her.

 

The thought takes care of the tattered remains of his self-control; he's getting close already, and she can feel it too because her grip on his shoulders tightens. "Wait – not yet, I'm…"

 

Her protest barely registers with him; his blood is roaring in his ears, and he grabs her ass with both hands and puts his full weight behind the next thrust that takes him over the edge. He comes in a furious rush and rides out the aftershocks with his head buried in the crook of her neck, and it takes a while until the pain from her nails digging into his upper arms penetrates the overwhelming mix of lust and fury in his mind.

 

"You selfish bastard!" She sounds beyond angry, but Booth doesn't let it get to him. Now that he's coming down from his high, his mind is surprisingly clear, and he takes in her flushed face and flashing eyes with almost clinical detachment as he steps back to pull up his pants.

 

"Stop complaining, we're not done yet."

 

Before she has time to react, he's on his knees before her and presses his face between her thighs. She lets out a surprised yelp, but then whimpers when she feels his mouth and hands on her. He has never been too fond of the taste of his own come, so he pushes his thumbs into her and holds her open with his splayed fingers while he starts sucking her clit.

 

_I'll show you what kind of man I am until you're begging me for more, Bones._

 

She leans back as far as the cramped space on the counter allows and braces herself on her elbows, shamelessly pushing herself against his mouth, and Booth indulges her and pays close attention to her reactions because he's determined not to let go of her before he has blown her mind.

 

Her whimpers turn into moans when he begins to slide his thumbs in and out while he works her clit with his lips and tongue; his fingers are coated in silky wetness now, and her musk fills his nostrils as he takes her further and further towards the precipice. It doesn't take long until she starts clenching around his fingers, but he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down while she gasps with the pulsing waves of her orgasm.

 

She's so wet now that it's seeping down his palms, and Booth figures it's only fitting that there'll be no trace of him left if he tastes her now, so he pulls out and, grabbing her thigh with one hand and pressing the heel of his other hand against her mound, slides his tongue into her.

 

He freezes for a moment when her answering cry sounds almost like his name – two days ago it would still have meant something, but now everything that matters is _this_ because it has become blindingly obvious that it's the only use she still has for him. She raises herself up again and buries her hands in his hair, pressing him tighter, deeper into her hot, slick flesh. It's getting difficult to breathe, but from the sound of it she's having the same problem, and he doesn't let up until she comes again with a drawn-out scream that probably wakes everyone in the whole building.

 

His knees are a little wobbly when he gets to his feet, but that's nothing compared to her, sprawled on the counter with her legs wide open and her face and upper body glistening with sweat. She's panting hard, and even though she looks as limp as a rag doll, she stubbornly holds his gaze when he reaches for a kitchen towel and wipes his face and hands.

 

"So, did you consider my performance satisfactory overall?"

 

If she gets the sarcasm, she doesn't show any reaction to it, and her voice is surprisingly steady when she replies. "That was very impressive, yes."

 

Booth shrugs and flings the towel aside; he's suddenly tired of this game, and it's probably best to end it on his own terms for once before she can run out on him. "Glad to know I'm still good for something after all."

 

With that, he turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.

 

+++

 

He did expect her to come after him, but he's utterly unprepared for the hand that grabs his shoulder from behind and yanks him around with such force that it almost knocks him off balance. He knows she's strong, but he would never have her thought capable of such a stunt even in his current, less than perfect condition.

 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Her voice is trembling with rage, and he wouldn't have needed the profanity to realize that she's absolutely livid. "When have I ever given you reason to believe that I consider you inadequate?"

 

Booth feels his own temper rise again. "It's not like I need you to point out the obvious!"

 

"Dammit, Booth, get over yourself already!" She's yelling now, and he fleetingly wonders why all their conversations seem to deteriorate into screaming matches lately, but a part of him is only too glad of the chance to blow off some steam. "Is it so unbearable for you that I am capable of holding my own without your help sometimes?"

 

Booth flinches; the question hits dangerously close to some of the things Gordon Gordon threw at him while Bones was working that explosion in Washington Highlands. "This isn't about your ego, Bones!"

 

"No, it's about yours!" She lowers her voice a little, but she doesn't sound any less angry because of it. "You've dedicated your life to helping others, to protecting the people you care about, but you won't allow anyone to do the same for you when you need it! I would have been happy to work the Gilroy case with you, but it wasn't possible because you were _sick_ , not because I deliberately chose to exclude you!"

 

"You didn't even _tell_ me about the trial!"

 

"Because I knew how you would react! I've told you before, Booth, I was trying to protect you!"

 

"I don't need protection, dammit – I'm not a child!" Now he's the one who's yelling, but it doesn't feel nearly as liberating as he expected it to.

 

"Neither am I!" She takes a step closer, and he almost backs away from the pure fury in her eyes. "I've been on my own for most of my life, and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but I accepted your claim that partners look out for each other and have each other's backs! I accepted it because I believed you, but I wasn't aware that you only meant yourself when you spoke of the importance of protecting your partner!"

 

"What are you talking about? You've saved my ass half a dozen times, haven't you?" He pauses for a moment when the question hits him whether those memories are real or just figments of his comatose imagination, but to his relief, Bones accepts the claim without questioning it. However, it doesn't seem to calm her.

 

"Yes, I have, but until now I wasn't aware that you resent me for it!"

 

The accusation honestly baffles him, and it makes him forget his anger for a second. "Bones, what the hell do you mean by that? I don't resent you for saving my life!"

 

"Then why do you resent me for trying to act in your best interest now?" She doesn't sound mad any more, just sad and exhausted. "I've done my best to be by your side every step of the way since you got sick, Booth; I know I'm not always good at understanding you, but I thought it was what you would want me to do. But you… you act like I'm taking something away from you whenever I try to help!"

 

" _That's_ what this is all about?" With dawning comprehension comes the sharp sting of humiliation, and it makes another hot spike of fury rise in his chest. "You think I'm not grateful enough for everything you're doing for me?"

 

"I don't give a damn about your gratitude!" She angrily wipes away the tears that have gathered in her eyes. "I just want you to accept that I'm on your side! We're still partners, Booth, and I'm sick and tired of you treating me like I'm the enemy whenever I try to _be_ your partner!"

 

He can barely bring himself to keep listening to her; his face is burning with mortification, and he clings to his anger like a lifeline because it's the only way he can hold on to the last shreds of his self-esteem. "Maybe it has escaped your notice, but we haven't been partners since last spring, and _I'm_ sick and tired of being your charity project!"

 

He knows right away that he has gone too far, but the words are out, and he'll be damned if he backs down now.

 

She takes a step back, and then another; all the color has left her face, and her arms are trembling when she wraps them around herself as if she were cold. Her voice, however, is cool and composed when she finally breaks the oppressive silence between them.

 

"I understand, and I'll respect your wishes from now on." She holds his gaze, but she's looking at him as if she had never seen him before. "I'm going to get ready for work now; by the time I come back tonight, I expect you to be gone from my apartment."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It's strange that a place which used to teem with memories – so much that they were beginning to suffocate him – should suddenly feel so empty. Booth slowly makes his way through the rooms of his apartment, fully prepared for the onslaught of images from two different lives, but nothing happens. These are just rooms – spotless, without as much as a speck of dust anywhere, but cold and dead nevertheless, and all those knick-knacks and souvenirs of past moments that he once used to treasure now make him feel like he's wandering through a museum filled with artifacts that used to have meaning to people who are long gone.

 

Booth doesn't let himself think about it. He doesn't want to think at all – if he allows himself to think, he'll also begin to feel, and he needs to be prepared for the moment when that happens _before_ the full impact of the past two days hits him.

 

The first thing he takes care of is his liquor cabinet. Mixing the medication that he still has to take with alcohol would be a very bad idea, and so far he has never been tempted, but now it's a risk he isn't willing to take. He stuffs the bottles into a paper bag and takes them down to the dumpster in the alley behind his building; his initial plan was to smash them before dumping them, but once he's actually in the alley, the idea just seems childish. At long last, he leaves the bag next to the dumpster; maybe some homeless guy will have a marginally brighter day than he is having because of them.

 

Next is the medicine cabinet in the bathroom; Booth clears it out completely and flushes everything down the toilet. He still vividly remembers the stash of pills that he kept under his mattress when he was a boy – he never really had a concrete plan to use them, but there were days when only the certainty that there would be a way out when things became unbearable kept him going. He left them behind when he and Jared moved to Philly with Pops, and he has never even considered that kind of escape route since then, but he isn't going to take any chances now. There's nothing he can do about his current prescriptions because he needs them, but he guesses it's better than nothing.

 

He isn't sure what to do about his laptop. Online gambling has never been his poison of choice, but he has hit enough low points in his life to know that there's no telling what's going to look attractive in a pinch. Then again, there's a good chance his credit card has long been cancelled anyway, and he can't cut himself off the internet forever considering that he wants to go back to work as soon as possible. At last, he locks the laptop in his empty gun safe and, after some deliberation, places an old photo of him and Parker on top of it. Hopefully, that will be enough to bring him back to his senses if he really should slip up.

 

He remembers only now that his gun – his own, not the one the FBI took away when he got sick – is still at Bones' place; he was unwilling to leave it behind when he moved into her apartment, so he made her put it into her own safe next to that monster cannon of hers. He didn't even think of it when he hastily packed his stuff this morning (and it's not like he would have known the combination to her safe if he had), and even though he hasn't been cleared to use a gun yet, he doesn't like the thought of being completely without a weapon.

 

Then again, at a time when he feels the need to throw out his booze and flush his old sleeping pills, it's probably for the best if he doesn't have access to a gun.

 

Booth shakes his head as if that could dislodge the thought; he doesn't have time to fall apart yet. There are people who need to know that he's back at his own place, and he doesn't want either of them to worry about him. He first calls Pops and thanks his lucky stars when the old man picks up himself because Booth isn't sure he could have dealt with Jared right now. It turns out he needn't have worried; Pops informs him brightly that Jared finally got his own place after he walked in on Pops and one of his lady friends one time too many (Booth tries very hard not to picture any of those scenarios), and he sounds genuinely happy when Booth informs him that he moved out of Bones' apartment. The old man seems to think that he decided to return to his place because he feels well enough for it, and Booth sees no reason to disabuse him of the idea.

 

His relief that the talk with Pops went so well is short-lived. Parker is next on the list, and it's only now that Booth remembers his next weekend with Parker is coming up in three days. He has become comfortable around his son again by now – Parker's initial wariness faded in tandem with Booth's apprehension about getting stuff wrong in the boy's presence, and the last few weekends they spent together have been thoroughly enjoyable, but they were never alone during any of them – Bones was always around to act as his safety net, to help him out if he should get things mixed up, and the thought that he'll now be on his own with Parker leaves him with a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. His memory issues have gotten much better, but that doesn't mean he trusts himself not to mess up and scare Parker again. He still doesn't know how to deal with the fact that Parker was barely there in that other reality, that he was able to feel completely happy and content without his son in his life, and he'll never forgive himself if he makes things even more difficult for Parker after everything he put the boy through since he got sick.

 

He looks out of the window, and his stomach tightens further. The weather has been awful for days; right now a mix of snow and sleet is pelting against the window, and it doesn't look like it's going to get better anytime soon, so he probably won't even be able to take Parker outside where he might be distracted enough not to notice a small mistake.

 

Gritting his teeth, Booth checks his watch – it's too early in the afternoon for Parker to be back from school yet, but maybe he should first talk to Rebecca and make arrangements for the weekend anyway. His call to Rebecca's cell goes to voicemail, though; he tries her landline without much hope because surely she's still at work, but to his surprise, she picks up on the second ring.

 

"Seeley? Since when are you back at your place?"

 

It takes Booth a moment to remember that he's using his home phone instead of his cell too – there's an image of a shiny old bakelite phone like the one Pops used to have at the back of his mind, but he pushes the thought away.

 

"That's why I'm calling, Becca – I just got back, and since my weekend is coming up –"

 

"Yeah, about that." Her voice is so low that he can barely understand her. "Wait, I'll just close the door so I won't wake him – there." She's speaking at a normal volume now, but she still sounds a little harried. "Parker's asleep in the living room – he couldn't go to school today because he woke up with a fever, and I had to take time off because Brent is away for work until next week and I couldn't find a babysitter at such short notice. It's nothing bad, just a case of the sniffles, but he should stay in bed for a few days, so I'd rather keep him here this weekend."

 

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Booth is torn between disappointment and relief – he really wants to see Parker, but a few extra days to get his act together might be helpful.

 

"We can just swap weekends, or maybe – once he's better, would you like to have him overnight during the week? You're not working again yet, are you?"

 

Booth grins faintly, grateful that she can't see his facial expression; he has known her long enough to realize when she acts like she's doing him a favor because she doesn't want to ask _him_ for one. "Becca, if you need someone to watch him, just say so."

 

She sighs. "Okay, fine – I had to cancel a pretty important meeting today because of Parker, and now it's been re-scheduled for next Wednesday evening, and since Brent won't be back until Thursday I have nobody to look after Parker. Would you mind –"

 

"No problem." It comes out sounding a lot more confident than he feels, but it's rare enough for Rebecca to ask him for help with Parker, so he wants to make it clear that she can count on him. "You want me to pick him up from school?" He knows that he'll have to start learning the bus routes if he wants to get around the city now, but one cab ride isn't going to bankrupt him any more than he already is.

 

"No, I can drop him off at your place before the meeting. Thanks, Seeley."

 

"Hey, he's my son too, after all." He isn't sure whether the reminder is meant for Rebecca's sake or for his own. "How's he doing, anyway?"

 

"Cranky and bored when he's awake – you know how he gets when he has to stay in bed. I promised him we'll do a Disney movie marathon together on Saturday if he behaves, and so far it helps, but we'll see for how long."

 

Booth suppresses a smirk; Parker loves Disney movies, but it's nothing compared to Rebecca's addiction to them even though she always tries to use him as an excuse for watching. "Sounds like fun."

 

Rebecca hesitates for a second. "Would you like to come over and join us? Parker was looking forward to your weekend, so I'm sure he'd love that."

 

"So would I." Even though he understands she's thinking of Parker and not of him, Booth experiences a rush of grateful affection for her. Having her around the first time he spends time with Parker without Bones is going to make things a lot easier, both for Parker and for himself. "Thanks, Becca, it – it means a lot."

 

"Sure. Eleven o'clock on Saturday okay for you?"

 

"I'll be there."

 

The immediate future looks marginally brighter when he hangs up, but the brief spark of positive energy is snuffed out quickly when the silence of his apartment starts weighing down on him again. His stomach is beginning to growl, and even though he doesn't feel like eating, he knows he has to before he takes his next dose of medication if he doesn't want to make himself sick. A quick trip to the kitchen confirms that his fridge is empty, and he can't bring himself to drag his ass out into the nasty November weather to go grocery shopping. After some digging around, he finds a can of ravioli at the back of his pantry and heats it up in the microwave. The result tastes as disgusting as it looks, but it'll do for today, and maybe tomorrow he'll feel like going out and getting some real food.

 

He promises himself he'll also empty his mailbox then – Bones went to his place to bring him his mail every other week or so, but it has been a while since the last time, and there's a good chance he'll find a couple of bills in the latest batch since Bones will no longer pick them out first. He knows this is something he'll have to deal with, but right now he can't bring himself to face it. Those bills will still be there tomorrow, and maybe by then he'll have an idea how he's supposed to get by until he can go back to work.

 

He's aware that he's taking the coward's way out, and he figures that he should at least tackle the other task he has been putting off, which is unpacking his bags. He left them by the door when he entered the apartment, and he hasn't looked at them since – it's as if unpacking his stuff will make everything real, will force him to finally face the fact that he's well and truly on his own because Bones cut him out of her life.

 

He pushes the thought away; Bones is the last thing he wants to think of right now. He focuses on the bags instead, and it goes well enough until he finds Gordon Gordon's book at the bottom of his duffel bag.

 

He stares at it for a long time, his mind a chaos of conflicting emotions. He can't bring himself to open it, but the reminder of the memories it contains leaves him with a sudden, overwhelming sense of homesickness.

 

_Tell me the truth, Booth, if you got the chance to go back to that place, would you do it?_

 

God, right now he'd give his right arm for the ability to still make the switch, to just forget about everything and immerse himself in the memories of a happier reality until this one feels like nothing more than a bad dream. If only he could close his eyes like he used to do during these first days at the hospital and just _forget_ – the pain in her eyes, the sting of her angry words, the way she pulled back whenever he reached out to her because she thinks he's seeing somebody else in her place.

 

_I wanted to see if you were so far gone that you wouldn't give a damn._

 

Has it really only been two days since Gordon Gordon accused him of taking refuge in another addiction because he doesn't want to deal with the real world? It feels like much longer – as if he had been shut out of that other life for so long that he has trouble remembering it now, and he wants to be furious, at Bones and at Gordon Gordon and at the entire world because anger would be much easier to bear than the dull, cold emptiness inside him.

 

The book's pristine leather cover seems to mock him in its elegance. There's no outward sign of the mess inside, of the jumble of joy and heartbreak and confusion and hope – it's all hidden underneath a smooth, blank surface that gives nothing away to the observer, that isn't touched by any of the lost dreams which fill its pages.

 

What happened to the man he once was, the man who prided himself on his ability to see deeper than the surface?

 

_You're the gambler – for once, make that work for you._

 

Shaking his head to get rid of the images which follow _that_ memory, Booth walks into his bedroom and puts the book into the nightstand drawer. It's not even fully dark yet, but he's suddenly weary to the bone. He can feel the reality of the past few days starting to sink in, and he doesn't want to face it – not while he's so tired that he can't think clearly. All the stuff he needs to deal with will still be here tomorrow, so he can give himself another night before he tackles the mess his life has become.

 

He takes his pills and then gets ready for bed, carefully keeping his focus on nothing but the need to sleep, to grant his body and his mind a few hours of rest because he's been asking way too much of them during the last few days.

 

For once, it takes him only a few moments to fall asleep.

 

+++

 

The familiar hallways of their home are echoing with the sound of his footsteps. He has been calling her name for hours, and by now he's so hoarse that he can't get a sound out. It doesn't matter anyway; he knows he isn't going to find her, that she has disappeared into the darkness where he can't follow her.

 

He first doesn't notice the faint sound of sobbing in the distance, but it gets louder as he moves forward. He quickens his pace when he recognizes her voice, despair giving way to sudden, desperate hope. He rounds a corner and finds himself in their living room; she's sitting in his beloved old leather recliner, but she doesn't see him. Her shoulders are hunched, and she's hiding her face in her hands while she's shaking with sobs.

 

He wants to reach out to her, but he finds that he can't move. She's right next to him, less than an arm's length away, and he suddenly realizes that they're in his car, and that his eyes are glued to the road while he drives through the stormy, rainy night outside with her crying in the passenger seat. His heart aches for her, but he can't turn his head, can't even look at her because he's paralyzed, and his eyes fall shut no matter how hard he tries to keep them open. The steady beeping of a heart monitor fills his ears, but he can still hear her weeping next to him, and he knows without a doubt that she's sitting by his hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up even though everyone told her that there's no chance he'll ever come back to her.

 

The surface of the bed is cold and hard underneath him, and when he finally manages to pry his eyes open, he's almost blinded by the harsh overhead lights of the lab. He's on a table on the platform; she's touching him, but he can't feel the warmth of her skin through her latex gloves – he wants to call out, to make her realize that he's alive and awake, but his body won't obey him, and he can only watch helplessly as silent tears are running down her cheeks and staining the collar of her lab coat.

 

He fights harder because he _has_ to reach her, has to make her understand that there's no need to mourn him because he's right here, because he isn't going to leave her… if only he could _move_ –

 

Booth wakes with a yelp when his wrist connects painfully with the corner of his nightstand. It takes him a second to get his bearings – he was struggling against being frozen in place, and he must have started trashing around while he tried to free himself so he could get to…

 

 _Bones_.

 

The image of Bones crying next to him is still fresh on his mind, and it catches him unawares a split second before he can get his defenses up. Yesterday's anger and hurt and confusion – he remembers them a moment too late because all he can think of is her, alone in her apartment with that lost, empty expression on her face, and he suddenly misses her so desperately that he feels like he can't breathe.

 

He's still trying to get a grip when the doorbell rings. Startled, Booth staggers out of bed and barely remembers to put on his bathrobe before opening the door; he's so out of it that he doesn't even check first who's there.

 

"Good morning." Genny sounds like everything is perfectly normal, and Booth wonders for a moment if he's still dreaming after all.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"We have an appointment at nine, remember? Don't tell me you forgot again!"

 

Booth bites his lip and takes a step back as he gestures for her to come in; he has indeed forgotten completely. Ever since his therapy with Genny has been reduced from daily to bi-weekly sessions, he keeps forgetting their appointments, although it was no real problem until now because Bones always reminded him –

 

 _Stop_.

 

Mentally calling himself to order, Booth does his best to think quickly. "No, I mean – what are you doing _here_? How did you even know…"

 

"Dr. Brennan told me." If Genny is aware that something happened between him and Bones, she doesn't show it. "She said that you moved back to your apartment, and that I should come here for our sessions now."

 

_I'm sick and tired of being your charity project._

 

Booth winces at the memory. It doesn't make sense – why would Bones still send Genny here after everything that went down yesterday? She must know perfectly well that he won't be able to afford Genny's services any longer since his health insurance isn't covering them.

 

The thought cuts through his confusion and brings him back to the present. "Genny, listen – there won't be any more therapy. You did a great job, and I'm grateful for your help, but I'll have to get by on my own now."

 

He fervently hopes she won't ask for a reason because even the idea of explaining things to her makes him cringe. She doesn't seem shocked or even surprised, though; she just nods.

 

"I guess that makes sense. You've made great progress, and as long as you keep working on everything that we discussed, I'm sure you can manage the rest of the way without me. You'll keep working on _all_ of it, right? Because muscles aren't everything, you know."

 

"Yeah, I know – and I will." He belatedly remembers that he isn't the only one affected by this decision, and now he feels guilty for springing this on her without warning. "You won't have trouble finding work, will you? I mean, you must have other patients…"

 

She laughs a little. "It's sweet of you to ask, but you don't need to worry about me. There aren't many therapists that specialize in coma work, so I have a lot of patients, and I will have no trouble at all finding new ones. You take good care of yourself – I'll be fine."

 

"Okay, then – thanks for everything, Genny." He means it; he knows he would be nowhere near where he's now if it hadn't been for her friendly, yet steely determination to help him get better.

 

"You're welcome." To his surprise – because a small part of him still sees the shy young agent whenever he looks at her – she steps closer and gives him a quick hug. "Good luck with everything, Seeley, and give Dr. Brennan my best."

 

Booth inhales sharply; she caught him off guard again. "Uh… sure."

 

She casts him a brief, calculating look and then says softly, "She really cares about you, you know."

 

It takes Booth a while until he feels able to move again after Genny has left. Her last words are still ringing in his ears, but more than anything, her visit was a stark reminder just how heavily he has been relying on Bones for all kinds of issues during the past few months. His treatment, his bills, his apartment, his _son_ – he let her take care of everything without even realizing how dependent on her he has become, and it seems pretty ironic that she had the nerve to accuse him of refusing her help when he basically let her run his life ever since he woke up at the hospital.

 

He has been on his way back to the bedroom to get dressed, but the thought stops him dead in his tracks. Did he really just blame _her_ for the fact that he relied too much on her to kick his own ass into gear?

 

When did he turn into Jared without noticing it?

 

It's the last question that really gets to him, and it leaves him with an unexpected surge of furious energy. Yes, pretty much everything sucks at the moment – and it will keep sucking if he doesn't get his act together. What's done is done, but things won't change for the better until he starts taking charge of his own life again. Whether he likes it or not, this is the real world, and he'd better find a way to deal with it instead of running away from it.

 

Booth gets dressed with a mix of determination and embarrassment. He figures that he probably just reached an important stage of his recovery, but the fact that it took him _this_ long to get here makes it painfully clear that he has little reason to pat himself on the back.

 

_Focus on the task at hand._

 

With a quick look through the window to confirm that the weather is still dreadful, he grabs his wallet and an umbrella and leaves the apartment to go grocery shopping. There are only two stores within walking distance, and even though Booth chooses the closer one, he's soaking wet and half-frozen by the time he comes back with two shopping bags.

 

Upon re-entering his building, he stops for a moment to get his mail and promises himself he'll start going through everything right after changing into dry clothes and eating breakfast.

 

When he puts away the groceries, he can't help realizing that there are several items in the bags that he would never have touched before the time he spent at Bones' apartment. The thought leaves him with another unexpected flash of longing not unlike the one he experienced in the morning, but he knows there's nothing he can do about it now.

 

The stack of paper on the kitchen counter seems to mock him throughout breakfast, and Booth eventually decides that he has had enough and takes the mail and his coffee to the living room. He sighs when he opens the first bill, and winces when he gets to the second; by the third, he's beginning to resign himself to the fact that he'll have to tap into Parker's college fund after all until he's fit to work again. He hates the thought, but it can't be helped – maybe, once he's fully recovered, he should finally try to get that promotion he has avoided until now so he'll be able to make up for it.

 

The idea sends his thoughts down another unpleasant path. There's a reason he has turned down several offers over the years – because each of these positions would have taken him out of the field, which would have meant severing his partnership with Bones, and there was no way he would ever have done that.

 

Until yesterday, at least.

 

Christ. Did he really tell her they weren't partners anymore?

 

Booth runs his fingers through his hair and then rests his forehead on his fists. For the first time since he walked out of her apartment yesterday, he considers calling her, but he quickly dismisses the thought. What would he say to her, anyway? She has made it clear she wants nothing to do with him anymore, after all.

 

_Don't go there, that way lies madness. Focus on the task at hand._

 

Taking a deep breath, Booth reaches for the next envelope and frowns when he recognizes the logo of the publishing company that used to publish Bones' Kathy Reichs series. It feels like forever since she wrote her last book – are they announcing a new one now? _One in which Kathy kicks Andy out of her life for good?_ a cynical voice at the back of his mind supplies.

 

Clenching his teeth, Booth rips the envelope open and pulls out a short letter and a check for twenty-seven thousand dollars.

 

+++

 

"Hello?"

 

Booth takes a deep breath. He's been trying to get a hold of Bones' publisher for almost an hour, but now that the man is finally answering his phone, Booth suddenly isn't sure what to say. How often do you need to come up with a polite way to ask _Care to tell me why you sent me a shitload of money_?

 

"Hi – my name is Seeley Booth, and I'm calling because –"

 

That's as far as he gets. "Mr. Booth, it's a pleasure to hear from you!"

 

The enthusiastic greeting throws Booth for a loop – he's pretty certain he has never heard of this guy (Andrew Whatshisface, Booth has already forgotten the name again) until today, but it's not out of the question that his memory is still playing tricks on him. "Have we met?"

 

"Not to my knowledge, but I daresay I've heard a lot about you."

 

Booth makes a face; he _really_ isn't in the mood for any smartass remarks about his possible role in the creation of Special Agent Andy Lister. Besides, who says 'I daresay' in normal conversation?

 

"Look, you sent me this check, and –"

 

"I know, you probably expected it sooner, and I apologize for the delay – but this is a bit more complicated than a normal royalty payout, and there were some additional questions about the latest batch of medical bills. Contractually we have six weeks from the time the advance evens out, and as you can see from the figures I sent you, we're still within that timeframe."

 

Booth eyes the letter on the coffee table in front of him. It consists almost entirely of numbers that make no more sense to him than anything Mr. Whatshisface just said.

 

"Look, Mister –"

 

"Please, call me Andrew." Oh great, one of _those_ guys.

 

"Fine, _Andrew_." Booth rolls his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. What royalty payout?"

 

"For Dr. Brennan's book, of course." The guy sounds puzzled, which at least makes him drop the cheerful act. "Aren't you familiar with the terms of the trust?"

 

"What?" Booth has no idea what to think any more. "Which trust? And which book, while we're at it?"

 

"Dr. Brennan didn't tell you?" Andrew seems completely baffled, and it does nothing for Booth's rapidly deteriorating mood.

 

"Do you really think I'd be asking _you_ if she had?"

 

"That… complicates matters a little." There's a pause, and then the hasty addition, "You see, as per Dr. Brennan's stipulations, we're working under a non-disclosure agreement here, so I'm not sure whether I'm allowed to tell you."

 

"You can leave almost thirty thousand dollars in my mailbox, but you can't tell me why? Are you kidding me?" Booth's tone must alert Andrew to the fact that he's reaching the end of his patience, because he relents.

 

"I suppose you have a point – as the beneficiary, you probably don't count as a third party since you're directly involved. You see, our company has enjoyed a long and successful collaboration with Dr. Brennan, but when she approached us with this project, she asked for a different kind of contract – her advance and all future royalties were to go into a trust created with the purpose to cover all costs caused by a medical emergency that you'd had shortly before. I understand that at the time, you were in a coma?"

 

Booth's head is beginning to spin. "When was that?"

 

"That would have been, let me see… ah yes, we started negotiating on May 26, and she handed in the finished manuscript at the beginning of July."

 

Booth tries to remember the timeline Bones drew up for him. Late May would have been… two weeks after his surgery, and early July was three weeks before he woke up. "Yeah, I was out during that time."

 

"I'm very glad to hear that you're doing better. Dr. Brennan didn't share any details about your condition, but she seemed extremely concerned."

 

Booth doesn't let himself consider the implications. "She wrote another Kathy Reichs novel to pay for my medical bills?" It doesn't make sense – Bones is already loaded, so why would she need to write another book for that?

 

"No, she came to us with a different project – something that deviates significantly from her usual style. I admit we were a little reluctant at first." Andrew lets out a tittering laugh that grates on Booth's nerves. "You see, Dr. Brennan is a highly successful author, and even though trying one's hand at a completely different genre is always risky, we would have been happy to go along with the idea if it hadn't been for the fact that she didn't want her name attached to it. I'm sure you're aware how important an author's popularity is for the marketability of their books, so it's counterproductive for a high-profile author like Dr. Brennan to publish under a pseudonym. She was insistent, though, and since we were already in contract negotiations for two additional Kathy Reichs novels…"

 

For the first time since he opened that letter, Booth has to smile. "She blackmailed you?" _I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to like it…_

 

Andrew titters again. "Oh, I wouldn't put it like that. Her monetary demands were reasonable, so we were finally able to reach an agreement. Instead of paying royalties like we usually would, that money goes into a trust which is administered by our company; for the duration of your disability, Dr. Brennan, as your medical proxy, forwards us any medical bills your insurance doesn't cover, and any other costs that might accrue." He doesn't sound quite as accountant-like any more when he adds, "It is my understanding that Dr. Brennan wanted to make sure your financial needs would be taken care of in case something should happen to her before you were fully recovered."

 

He pauses, as if expecting Booth to say something; at Booth's stunned silence, he continues. "Initially, those costs were deducted from the sum of the advance that Dr. Brennan would have gotten for the book, but now that sales are well underway and the advance has evened out, under the terms of the trust instrument we were obliged to pay out the remaining sum to you."

 

That finally brings Booth out of his stupor. "But this – this is twenty-seven thousand dollars!"

 

"Well, you need to understand that we were taking a big risk with the publication of this book, so we weren't able to offer Dr. Brennan the same terms she would have gotten for another Kathy Reichs book or a similar work published under her name, and if you factor in the costs for your medical treatment, which have been considerable…"

 

It takes Booth a while to cotton on to the fact that Andrew thinks he expected _more_ money than what they sent him – the idea just seems too surreal, but before Booth can interrupt the guy's diatribe to set him straight, Andrew drops the next bombshell.

 

"Based on the latest sales figures, it's safe to assume that you can expect a significantly higher payout at the end of the current sales period, especially if there's a decrease in medical expenses now that your health is improving. I –"

 

"Wait – what? Are you saying there'll be _more_?"

 

"Yes, of course." Andrew sounds honestly baffled. "The book only came out two months ago, after all. Our PR department had the idea to plant the online rumor that it was the 'secret work of a world-famous author' – only within the boundaries of our agreement with Dr. Brennan, of course – to create some initial buzz, and I daresay that the results surpass our most optimistic expectations."

 

"But – I mean… are you saying you'll just keep sending me money?" Booth still has trouble wrapping his mind around the whole idea. "What if I don't want it?"

_I'm sick and tired of being your charity project…_

 

Judging by the sound Andrew makes, Booth has just said something very stupid or totally shocking. "The money is yours, Mr. Booth; costs for accounting and taxation are paid out of the trust's assets, and as the beneficiary, you're free to do whatever you wish with the payments you receive. In the case of your death, your son is listed as the next beneficiary, but while you're alive it's entirely up to you to decide what happens with the money."

 

Booth feels like wheels are turning in his head as his brain tries to follow several lines of thought at the same time. "Andrew, listen – does Dr. Brennan know I got that check?"

 

He can tell that the guy is beginning to get a little weirded out, but thankfully he still answers. "Dr. Brennan isn't involved in administrative matters, so she wasn't notified, no. However, considering her experience in this field, I guess she should be able to estimate when the first payment is due." He doesn't ask why it's an issue for Booth, but he's obviously wondering what exactly is going on here.

 

Booth is beginning to think that it's a question _he_ would like to ask too – if it weren't for the fact that the only person who could answer it is no longer speaking with him.

 

His prolonged silence seems to make Andrew nervous, because he tries to cover it by starting to babble. "The book really surprised us, you know – I mean, we knew that Dr. Brennan is a very good writer, but we wouldn't have thought that she had it in her to completely switch genres and styles and still come across as authentic. I –"

 

"I wouldn't know, I haven't read it." Booth is aware that he's being rude, but he really has no interest in small talk right now.

 

"Oh." From the sound of it, Andrew is now convinced that Booth is a total nutcase. "Would you like me to send you a copy?"

 

"Yeah, sure, thanks." Booth just wants this conversation to be over; he desperately needs to think. "I'd give you my address, but it looks like you already have it."

 

"Hah, yes, of course…"

 

Andrew is still tittering when Booth hangs up.

 

+++

 

_"I know. You wrote a book."_

 

He should focus on the present, but he can't help it that his thoughts keep wandering back to that moment shortly after he woke up, when Bones first tried to tell him what had happened to him. He remembers what he said to her, but he doesn't seem able to recall _why_ he said it – no matter how hard he concentrates, he can't remember anything about a book that she might have written during his coma, although her spooked reaction should have told him that he had been spot on with his assessment. Did she actually write it sitting by his hospital bed, or was it just one of the things she told him about while he was out?

 

Funny how she only ever seems to talk to him when he's unconscious.

 

Booth eyes the check on the coffee table and realizes that he has no idea what to do with it. For once, he gets what she was thinking when she came up with the idea of a trust for him – no matter how determined she was to keep hoping, Bones has always been a realist when it comes to scientific facts, and if the doctors told her that there was a chance he would spend the rest of his life in a hospital bed…

 

_Dr. Brennan wanted to make sure that your financial needs would be taken care of in case something should happen to her before you were fully recovered._

 

Oh man. Booth runs a hand through his hair and tries very hard not to remember the look on her face when she accused him of resenting her for trying to help him. Was she already freaking out because she knew it was only a matter of time until he found out that she'd done much more than just the stuff he knew about? But why _hadn't_ she just told him about the whole thing right away?

 

 _Maybe because you were already throwing tantrums over the stuff you did know_ , a sneering voice that sounds a little like Jared speaks up at the back of his mind. He does his best to shush it; seriously, Bones should have known that she couldn't just hand him a ton of money, no matter what her intentions were. Did she think that the book thing would make it easier for him to swallow his pride? Is that why she didn't publish it under her name – so that nobody else would have to know? Booth cringes at the thought; somehow, the idea that she might have tried to help him save face manages to make the whole thing _more_ humiliating.

 

Why the damn book, though? It's the question he keeps coming back to – who the hell thinks of writing a book while they're sitting by their partner's hospital bed, and why does a part of his brain insist that he knew all along that she'd written it? Booth belatedly realizes that he didn't even ask Andrew about the title, or about her pseudonym, and suddenly he _has_ to know.

 

Glad of the chance to focus on something else than the check on the table, Booth retrieves his laptop from the gun safe and starts googling. He isn't sure what he's looking for, but he figures there probably aren't that many 'secret works by world-famous authors' out there. He checks a few popular book discussion boards – he learned more than he ever wanted to know about the online activities of literature geeks during that case with the three guys who copied the murders from one of Bones' novels – and quickly hits pay dirt.

 

 _Lab Rats_ , by Joy Scallion.

 

He wouldn't have expected Bones to ever willingly use her old first name for anything, but combined with the book title, it makes the whole thing a no-brainer. The last name she used rings a bell too; he can't place it right now, but at least it looks like it did the trick of hiding Bones' identity from everyone else – there's plenty of speculation about the "real" author of the book, but he can't find a single mention of her name in any of these discussions. What he does find, however, is a link to a pirated online copy.

 

Booth struggles with his conscience for all of two seconds. He doesn't usually do this (he's with the FBI, for crying out loud, their seal gets slapped on every DVD and CD case to _prevent_ this kind of thing, and for a moment he remembers a smarmy young agent from the Prada Police who's probably a hospital clerk or something in real life and didn't deserve Booth's comatose mind casting him as a killer), but he wants to know what kind of story Bones wrote during those weeks she spent at the hospital waiting for him to wake up, and he isn't going to wait for his copy to arrive in the mail, or to waste time going out and finding a bookstore because even the few seconds it takes for the PDF file to download feel like an eternity.

 

Ignoring the nervous knot in the pit of his stomach, Booth opens the file and begins to read.

 

+++

 

_In the darkest moments before dawn, a woman returns to her bed…_

 

Booth's breath catches in his throat when he scans the opening paragraphs of Bones' book. He can't explain the strange sensation of déjà vu, but something is tugging at the fringes of his consciousness, and it gets stronger with every word he reads.

 

_'Do you love me?'_

 

He can picture the scene as clearly as if he had seen it before – but it isn't two characters from a book, it's him and Bones in bed together, and he feels as if he had heard her ask him that very question at some point in time that he can't recall.

 

_'Yeah. Do you want me to prove it to you?'_

 

He's sure he has never said that to her, and yet the words are familiar – as familiar as the intimate scene that follows. It's a scene that would usually make him a little uncomfortable like all the steamier parts of Bones' books do, but now he feels like she's walking him through his own memory, showing him the way he had forgotten until…

 

 _That_ dream. The night he was waiting for her to come home from the site of the explosion in Washington Highlands, when she woke him from that weird dream-within-a-dream experience which had taken him back to a place in his memories that didn't seem to belong there. How did her book end up inside his brain? Did she read it to him as she wrote it by his bedside at the hospital?

 

The thought triggers an avalanche of images in his mind, but none of them make sense, so he tries to focus on the text before him instead; maybe he'll find some answers there. The couple in the book is woken by the cops knocking on their door early the next morning, and Booth finally learns that the guy's name is Anthony Bow, and that he calls the woman Roxie.

 

Tony and Roxie.

 

Roxie who was Bones trying to sound like she imagined Clara Bow would have sounded if they'd actually had sound in her days. The case in Las Vegas some five or six – no, _three_ years ago.

 

Booth looks up from the screen for a moment because he needs to make sure that he's still in his living room and hasn't stepped into some weird parallel universe. He's ninety-nine percent certain that the Las Vegas case is a real memory, but coming across those names in a book that Bones wrote is more than a little disorienting. Why would she use them for her characters, and why did she choose that last name for Tony? Booth racks his brain for the alias he actually used back then – he's certain that it sounded Italian and started with an S or a Z, something like…

 

Then the name of the file he's reading – _LR_JScall_ – catches his eye, and suddenly he's right back in a seedy gym in Vegas, with Bones in that hot little black number glued to his side, and the memory is so clear in his mind as if he'd only been there yesterday.

 

_"What's your name?"_

_"Tony Scallion. Here's my fiancée, Roxanne."_

_"We're more 'engaged to be engaged'."_

 

Joy Scallion. Bones chose _his_ undercover name for her pseudonym, and she gave the character she named after his the last name of the actress who inspired a character she once played. How often has he heard her claim that she puts nothing in her books that doesn't have some kind of meaning for the plot or for the development of her characters? But if that's true, what made her pick those names?

 

Shaking his head, Booth tries to concentrate on the story once more, but he has to pause again when the next scene reveals that Tony and Roxie own a night club called 'The Lab' together.

 

What did he say to Genny during that first therapy session with her after he woke up?

 

_"At least I still remember being an FBI agent this time."_

_"This time? You were in a coma before?"_

_"Yeah, and I woke up thinking that I was a night club owner."_

 

How could he tell her such a thing if he has no memory of it? But there's _something_ now, like a shadow at the back of his brain, and he feels like he just needs to look at it from a different angle to turn it into a clear picture.

 

He woke up thinking he was a night club owner – woke up thinking he was something he isn't, and Bones… oh God, Bones with that stricken look on her face when he opened his eyes and asked her who she was, because she thought he had forgotten her altogether when he was just trying to figure out if she was Bones or Bren…

 

Bren, who was his wife and pregnant with his child.

 

Booth presses his palms against his temples because he feels like his head is about to explode. As if a dam had broken in his mind, the memories are flooding back in – the dead body of a hired killer in a bathroom stall, Max trying to squeeze a bribe out of them, Vincent and Zack being arrested after they found the murder weapon, Cam holding Jared at gunpoint in the alley behind the club… and the painful weeks that followed, when he tried to re-adjust to a reality in which he and Bones were nothing but partners, and in which she had left for some dig the day after he woke up from the coma.

 

How could he have forgotten? He doesn't even need to check his entries in Gordon Gordon's book because he's absolutely certain there's nothing about this in there, but now the memories are clearer than anything which happened afterwards in that… other life he lived during his coma. Was all of it a story _she_ told him? He's sure that he called her Bren, not Roxie, but what about the story itself?

 

Booth turns back to the screen with a new sense of urgency. It's no longer just curiosity that makes him eager to know what kind of story Bones wrote; he needs to make sense of the images in his own mind, and he won't be able to do that until he finds out if it was her who put them there.

 

He realizes quickly that Bones' storyline is a lot more complicated than the one he remembers. He should probably have expected it, considering that the file is well over three hundred pages long – no wonder she was able to churn out those massive books of hers at such speed if she managed to write this in what must have been a couple of weeks (did she ever sleep at all during the time he was out?). The style feels very different from her Kathy Reichs books, though – Booth isn't the most avid reader, and he's definitely no literary critic, but what he's reading now reminds him a little of those old detective novels he loved as a boy instead of Bones' forensics-heavy plots that always feel as sharp and polished as the steel surfaces of her lab to him. This one is an almost chaotic mix of action, intrigue and sex; the two main characters have to deal with gang wars, a bunch of mobsters known as the Persians, corrupt politicians and a shady business rival who wants to buy their club, and while some scenes feel familiar, the overall story is unlike the one that he just rediscovered in his memory.

 

As far as he can tell, Tony and Roxie aren't married; there are several mentions of the fact that they started out as business partners, and they always refer to each other as partners when talking to others. The supporting characters are different too, although not so much that Booth doesn't still recognize their real-world counterparts in them in spite of the fact that the names have been changed.

 

The hostess, Irma, is a little flaky and almost ends up helping a killer get to Roxie. Tony's cop brother Jasper once went out with Roxie and still carries a torch for her, and Booth gets a moment of vindictive amusement out of the fact that Bones named his brother's character after a pig. The bartender is called Eric Amargo, and even Booth's limited Spanish is enough to crack _that_ code – especially when it turns out that the guy is secretly in cahoots with the mob. Booth grins a little when he gets to that part; it looks like Bones is very good at holding grudges if she actually turned Sweets into a traitor in her story.

 

His grin fades when he remembers his talk with Sweets at the hospital. He knows Sweets did what he thought was best when he told Bones to let the doctors take Booth off life support, but once again, Booth has to ask himself how he would have reacted if it had been her in that hospital bed, and people had tried to convince _him_ to let her die.

 

He'd probably have shot someone.

 

Gritting his teeth, Booth scrolls down to the next chapter, which starts with Tony and Roxie discussing their current troubles while getting ready for another night at the club. The domestic set-up forms a strange contrast to the way things have progressed until now, and Booth is completely taken aback by the intimate, almost tender atmosphere of the whole scene. The characters are worried and uncertain, but it seems to Booth that they're drawing strength from each other, that both of them are convinced there's nothing they can't deal with as long as they face it together. He has often heard Bones complain that people shouldn't focus so much on her characters' personal relationships, and yet she managed to portray something here that feels incredibly real, that makes it obvious to the reader that these two people are like two halves of a perfect whole and rely on that fact during every moment of their lives.

 

_You complement each other._

 

Booth takes a deep breath and tries to make sense of his conflicting emotions. At this point, there can be no doubt that Tony – or Mr. B, as his employees call him (doesn't Hodgins call Bones "Dr. B" when he thinks he can get away with it?) – is him. He has always been convinced that he was Bones' inspiration for the character of Andy Lister, but the similarities between him and Andy are nothing compared to the way Bones wrote Tony in this book. Andy may have been created in his image, but Tony _is_ him – eerily so, even, right down to his speech pattern and a number of small mannerisms that Booth wasn't even fully aware of until now. He can hear himself say exactly what Tony is saying in most situations, right down to the jokes he would crack – and after years of Bones acting like she doesn't understand his sense of humor, it's downright weird to see her reproduce it so perfectly. Does she really know him that well?

 

How on earth did they land themselves in this whole mess if she does?

 

Once more, Booth reins in his thoughts before they move into dangerous territory. Bones is a writer _and_ an anthropologist, so it probably shouldn't come as a surprise that she's good at observing human behavior. Still, a traitorous part of his mind keeps wondering how he would feel if he _wasn't_ able to recognize himself in Tony, if she had written the character in a way that made him think she'd been picturing a different kind of person, and the way his stomach clenches at the thought is a pretty definitive answer to that question.

 

_There was nothing of me in those happy memories of yours._

 

Christ, why didn't he go with his first impulse and tell Gordon Gordon where he could stuff his damned coma journal?

 

Muttering a curse under his breath, Booth turns back to the book. By now it's no longer just the characters that feel familiar; as the plot thickens, he starts coming across events that he recognizes – not as parts of a long-forgotten dream, but as actual memories, albeit taken out of context and changed to fit the demands of the storyline. In order to escape another attempted mob hit, Tony and Roxie have to go underground into the city's old sewer system, and Roxie almost gets killed when a tunnel collapses.

 

The vivid description of Tony digging her out of the rubble with his bare hands sends a shiver down Booth's spine, and not only because it brings back the nightmarish recollection of a small cloud of dust over a deserted quarry. Bones has never really spoken about the effect that being buried alive had on her, and nothing in her behavior during Heather Taffet's trial indicated any kind of lingering trauma, but… this is Bones, who will always think twice about lowering her defenses, so the fact that she has always seemed okay doesn't actually mean anything, and her account of Roxie struggling for breath while still being absolutely certain that Tony will come to her rescue leaves Booth with a hollow ache in his chest.

 

Things are coming to a head for Tony and Roxie now; the Persians finally decide to make an example of them and send a guy to kidnap and kill Roxie, and Tony gets to her in the nick of time before the kidnapper can feed her to a pack of dogs. They make it back to the empty club in the early hours of the morning, but two more mobsters are waiting for them there. Tony takes down the first one, but the second one gets the drop on him and is about to bash in his head with a tire iron when Roxie shoots him with the gun she took from the body of her kidnapper after Tony killed him.

 

Booth stops reading and pushes the laptop away; he needs a moment to pull himself together because has no idea what to think anymore. Kenton and his dogs, Bones saving his life by shooting Gil Lappin – he remembers all of it, and yet it seems like he gets to see it through her eyes now, because the book takes him into Roxie's head and makes him feel her fear for her own life and for Tony's, her utter trust that he'll do everything in his power to save her, and her grim determination to do whatever it takes in order to save _him_ no matter what it's going to cost her. The fictional characters are fading before his eyes, and it's like Bones is directly speaking to him, telling him things she would probably never have put into words otherwise. How can this be the same woman who would barely look at him during the past few weeks?

 

_I feel like an impostor in my own life when you look at me and see somebody else in my place._

 

Booth flinches away from _that_ memory as if burned. He isn't going there right now, so he turns back to the book instead – to Tony and Roxie who are beginning to realize that they'll never be safe unless they disappear without a trace. Tony, with his army past and his street smarts, has been the driving force during the previous chapters, but there's a shift in the dynamic now – it's Roxie's cool, analytical mind that comes up with a solution and convinces him it's the only way to go no matter how difficult it's going to be. If Booth had still doubted that Roxie is just as much her as Tony is him, this would have been the moment to finally convince him.

 

In the big showdown, Tony blows up the club with their two dead attackers inside so that once the remains are found in the rubble, everyone will assume that he and Roxie died in the explosion. _Wouldn't fool Bones_ , Booth can't help thinking, but he figures that given who wrote this scene, it's probably realistic enough to assume that a run-of-the-mill coroner wouldn't be able to figure out the victims' identity from a few charred bone chips. Roxie is waiting for Tony with a new car and a briefcase full of cash because she sold the club to their sleazy business rival just before Tony lit the fuse, and the two of them hit the road together.

 

Booth would have expected the story to be over now, but to his surprise, there's another, epilogue-like chapter that describes the first night Tony and Roxie spend on the run in some seedy highway motel. The two of them share a moment of grief over the loss of the life they built together, but then they quickly focus on what's most important – that their life can always be rebuilt as long as they're together. _The center must hold_ , Tony tells Roxie, and Booth has trouble breathing for a moment when Roxie replies that she needs to tell him something too.

 

The ending of the story that Booth remembers is suddenly at the forefront of his mind, and he fully expects Roxie to announce that she's pregnant with Tony's baby, but instead she reminds him that they have to find a safe way to get a message to Tony's brother because even though Jasper is a bit of a jerk, he shouldn't have to spend the rest of his life believing his brother to be dead. Booth feels like he's been kicked in the stomach when he reads it; not only because there will be no baby at the end of this story, but also because the message that Bones still isn't over his fake death couldn't be clearer.

 

He snorts when he recalls Sweets' reason for not informing her. _Able to handle my death because she can compartmentalize, my ass_. If the fact that she almost broke his jaw wasn't enough to make the limits to that ability glaringly obvious, the way she brought up the issue in this chapter definitely is.

 

_I've had enough of you dying on me._

 

Pushing the thought aside, Booth goes back to the final chapter. He still isn't sure what he's supposed to make of the fact that there's no baby announcement in this story even though he clearly remembers it. Did Bones edit it out of the first draft, or is it something his own mind added to the storyline – something that, according to her, only was on his mind in the first place because of the whole baby issue between them before he got sick?

 

He's going to end up with his brain leaking out of his ears if he keeps trying to make sense of this.

 

On the last pages of the book, Tony and Roxie make love again, and while their prior love scenes have already been intense (maybe even more so than the sex scenes in her Kathy Reichs books), this one definitely takes the cake. Booth wonders for a moment how Bones managed it entirely without Angela's input considering they weren't speaking to each other at the time, but then pauses when he examines the thought more closely.

 

Would Bones really ever allow anyone to help her with writing her books? She doesn't even let him read her manuscripts before they're printed, and try as he might, he can't remember any occasion of her mentioning Angela's involvement in her writing before his illness. If it happened afterwards, though – Booth clenches his teeth as he's forced to realize that it must be one of those small details from the coma reality that still sneak up on him every now and then, and he's deeply grateful that he didn't think of it until now because he doesn't even want to know what Bones would have made of it if she'd read about the fact that he considers her incapable of writing her books without help.

 

How the hell _did_ his mind come up with that idea, anyway? He eyes the page on his screen with a mix of hesitation and fascination – Tony has Roxie up against the closed door of their motel room, and the mental image is definitely having an effect on Booth, even more so because it brings back very real memories of the night Bones first followed him to his room. Booth does his best to ignore the way his blood is rushing south as he reads on; it's not just the fact that this is probably the hottest sex scene he has ever read that is getting to him, it's that Bones somehow managed to make the reader feel the connection between these two characters as they cling to each other in their need to assure each other that the whole ordeal is over, that they have a brighter future ahead of them and that they'll spend every moment of it together.

 

How did the woman who claims that sex is nothing but a 'biological urge' come up with such a scene? Booth has no answer to the question, but there's no way he can stop his thoughts from wandering back to those nights when she came to his room, when he didn't know yet that she thought it was the only way she could be close to him without his fantasies of her getting between them. Christ, what he'd give for the ability to turn back time –

 

_If you love someone, you open yourself up to suffering, that's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart; maybe you'll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. That's the burden._

_Like wings, they have weight; we feel that weight on our backs, but they are a burden that lifts us._

_Burdens that allow us to fly._

 

Booth re-reads the last lines at least a dozen times, and then remains motionless with his eyes still glued to the screen as he tries to sort through the chaos in his mind. He remembers that ending – remembers it word for word, but until today he wouldn't have believed that Bones would ever have written anything like it.

 

Right now, it doesn't matter that most of the story is different from his memory of it. He also has memories of working FBI cases with Genny Shaw, and of being in a relationship with Ha… Nurse Burley; he's learning to live with the fact that he can't fully trust the images in his head, that bits and pieces which got through to him during his coma have developed a life of their own inside his brain. Once again, he wonders if Bones discussed the plot of her book with him at the hospital, or if she read parts to him as she wrote them. His mind insists on the memory of her reading him the whole story, but that's not how writing works, is it? Bones doesn't often talk about her writing process, but he definitely recalls that she mentioned editing, re-writing and re-arranging paragraphs, and that she doesn't always write chapters in chronological order. It's much more likely that she talked to him as she wrote, although the thought of her bouncing ideas off him even though she knew he couldn't answer leaves him with a lump in his throat.

 

At long last, the growling of his stomach manages to cut through his stupor and remind him that the completely forgot about lunch because it's late afternoon already. Almost on autopilot, Booth stumbles into the kitchen, fixes himself a sandwich and eats it without tasting anything. His thoughts are a whirling mass of disconnected images and unanswered questions, and he knows that he needs to pull himself together before he can even attempt to make sense of anything he just read.

 

Before he can think better of it, Booth grabs his gym bag and heads out. His old gym is a little too far away to comfortably get there on foot, but right now a long walk might be just what he needs to clear his mind. He hasn't been to that gym since the coma because he didn't want to run into anyone he knows before he's back in shape again, and even though he's not fully there yet, the question what his gym buddies might think of him is the least of his worries right now. He makes his way through the dreadful weather without really feeling the slush soaking through his shoes and the snowflakes melting on his face, but by the time he reaches the gym, the stunned daze has lifted a bit.

 

He tries to focus on nothing but the physical exertion for the next two hours, and once he's back home afterwards, he's feeling a little more like himself again even though he's tired and sore all over. His laptop is still sitting on the coffee table next to the publisher's letter with the check, and he knows he will finally have to think about the issue that has been staring him in the face since he began reading her book.

 

No matter what he seems to remember of the story, the fact remains that this book isn't _his_ dream.

 

It's hers.

 

+++

 

He can see her lips moving, can tell from her expression that she's desperate for him to understand her, but he hears nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat. Her eyes are swimming in tears, and she leans closer, trying to get through to him – and he wants to reach out, to assure her with a touch that he's aware of her presence even if he can't hear what she's saying, but he's frozen, and no matter how hard he tries, his body won't obey him. He knows that she's trying to tell him something important, something he _needs_ to hear, and it cuts him up inside to see her so frantic without being able to do anything about it. If only he could move, just a little bit…

 

He pushes against the invisible bonds holding him in place, struggles against them with all his strength, and suddenly something gives. His momentum propels him forward, but instead of moving towards her he's falling –

 

Booth blinks owlishly in the sudden brightness of his living room when he opens his eyes. He's on the floor in front of his couch, and it takes him a moment to understand how he got there. His right knee and elbow are smarting; he must have hit them on the coffee table when he fell off the couch.

 

Why did he fall asleep on his couch in the first place? It's hell on his back, and the TV isn't even on, so…

 

Still groggy and disoriented, he finally manages to pick himself up from the floor, and understanding dawns when he sees his laptop on the coffee table. Right – he started re-reading Bones' book after he came home from the gym, and he must have fallen asleep halfway through. A quick glance at the clock tells him it's half past two already, so any serious thinking will have to wait until morning because he's dead on his feet.

 

Booth staggers into his bedroom and collapses on the bed without bothering to take off more than his jeans, hoping he'll be out the moment his head hits the pillow. No such luck, though

– as soon as the lights are off, his brain goes into overdrive and starts bombarding him with images that are a bizarre mix of reality, his dream version of Bones' book and some other elements he can't identify. There's no way he'll be able to go back to sleep with that kind of kaleidoscope in his mind, and Booth tries to think of something concrete to focus on that will allow him to ignore the din until it dies down.

 

Out of habit, the first place his thoughts turn to is the home he built for Bones while they were awaiting the birth of their child. A part of him eagerly reaches out towards the memory, but he can't bring himself to immerse himself in the soothing familiarity of it like he used to. He tries, but the attempt leaves him with an image of her, tears in her eyes and exhaustion written all over her face, standing outside the house and looking at the scene of his happy family life through the window like a stranger who has no place in it.

 

With a groan, Booth presses the heel of his hand against his forehead and tries to think of something else, something that is safe and certain and comforting enough to finally let him sleep. He probably shouldn't be thinking of her at all, but he knows that's a battle he won't win because he's up against an opponent who knows all his weaknesses, who will always find the most vulnerable spot that –

 

Vulnerable spot…

 

 _Tony, stay down! Monroe has calcium deposits on his left medial epicondyle_. _Hit him there!_ _His lower back, above his right kidney! Give him your Nolan Move!_

 

He can almost smell the stale smoke, the sweat and the dirt – can almost hear her yelling at him over the roar of the crowd, guiding him through the fight against a giant who would have beaten him to a pulp if it hadn't been for her. Then she's next to him, in his arms, gently supporting him when his knees give out under him, and suddenly the pain is gone; his whole body is vibrating under her touch, and it barely registers on him that the crowd has disappeared, that the noise has faded into nothingness. There's nothing but her in that sinful red dress, her painted lips parted in a smile and her smoky blue eyes never leaving his as she leans forward in his lap, her dress falling open to reveal her incredible breasts, smooth and soft under his touch. Her voice is a low murmur in his ear, and even through her sighs and moans, she keeps talking to him, keeps whispering his name as he sinks into her warmth, as she moves with him in a frantic rhythm until it breaks in a spike of breathtaking pleasure –

 

Booth is still breathing hard when he wakes up, his t-shirt clammy with sweat and his boxers uncomfortably sticky. For a moment, the familiarity of the situation leaves him with a weird sensation of disorientation. He's been there before – there were too many mornings like this after the case in Vegas, too many nights filled with the kind of dreams he had no business having about his _partner_. You'd think they should be less vivid now that he knows what it's like to touch her, taste her, be inside her, and yet he can still feel her under his hands, can still smell her lingering scent, and he consciously has to remind himself that he no longer needs to feel guilty about it like he did back then, when he was still with Cam and didn't know how to deal with the fact that he kept having wet dreams about another woman almost every night. He recalls deliberately picking a fight with Cam after he almost whispered Bones' name in Cam's bed – he needed to keep his distance for a few days to sort himself out, to get his wayward libido under control and to make sure that he knew how far he could go without overstepping the line he'd drawn around his and Bones' partnership long before he ever mentioned it to her.

 

_After we became partners, you always emphasized that it was all we were – that there were people you couldn't sleep with, and lines that we couldn't cross, and I understood perfectly well what you meant by that._

 

Oh, fuck.

 

With a groan, Booth drags himself out of bed. It's almost eight o'clock already – he really needs to stop sleeping in every day if he ever wants his life to go back to normal. Wincing at the dull pain in his feet that is always worst on cold mornings, he limps into the bathroom and starts the shower; maybe it will help him clear his mind a little.

 

The hot spray soothes his tense muscles, and Booth gradually relaxes as the last remnants of the dream begin to fade. He doesn't have time to think about _his_ dreams right now – he needs to figure out what to do with the glimpse into _her_ fantasy that he got yesterday, how to deal with the fact that Bones spent the weeks of his coma writing down her story of _them_ and sharing it with the world in the thinnest of disguises, a disguise she knew he'd see right through if he ever got to read her book.

 

Not that she knew for certain at the time she wrote it that he'd ever wake up again. Is that it? Did she only lower her defenses because she had given up hope that he'd ever be in a position to understand what she'd done?

 

_Putting a dream into words is akin to placing a brilliantly colored butterfly in a glass jar – its beauty is preserved for much longer than the few weeks it would have existed under the open skies, but it can no longer take flight._

 

Booth feels a chill creep up his spine that has nothing to do with the water getting cooler when he remembers Gordon Gordon's weird lecture about the 'magic of the written word'. Was it just that for her – a way to clear her mind of a fantasy she wanted to get rid of, to banish it on paper so it no longer had a life of its own inside her brain, just like he unwittingly did with the memories from his coma life when he wrote them down in Gordon Gordon's book?

 

And yet… her story isn't the result of a comatose brain, isn't something her subconscious came up with while her rational mind was defenseless against it. Whatever it means to her, it's a book she _chose_ to write, a story she could have told differently but decided to tell exactly like that, with a man who is him and a woman who is her facing everything life throws at them together because they love each other. He still can't wrap his mind around the idea that Bones, who always insisted that love is just hormones and all human relationships are fleeting, would come up with such a story – just like he doesn't know what to make of the fact that the thing that got her to write it was the prospect of losing him for good.

 

Booth shakes his head as he turns off the shower and reaches for a towel. What was that other thing Gordon Gordon said back then?

 

_Writing has been used for millennia as a way to tame one's dreams, but the downside – and the price that every writer pays – is that pinning a dream down on paper tends to make it impossible to keep dreaming it._

 

Is that it? Wasn't it _him_ she gave up on, was it the dream she felt she needed to sacrifice in order to… what? To make up for the guilt she felt because she'd asked him to father her child? To prove that the reality of him getting his health back was more important to her than her dream – a dream she was convinced would never come true in any shape or form because she had mistaken his damned line for a lack of interest?

 

Booth yanks the razor through the stubble on his cheeks with so much force that he ends up nicking himself several times, but at least the stinging pain brings him back to the present and makes him realize the magnitude of what just went through his mind. He may not know what exactly she was thinking, or why she really wrote that book – but no matter how he looks at it, the basic fact that Bones obviously _had_ fantasies about the two of them together forces him to re-evaluate pretty much everything he ever assumed about her feelings for him. He has known for a long time that she cares about him, that she'd go to impossible lengths to help or protect him, but it has never occurred to him until now that he might not have been the only one who hid his true desires behind the comfortable safety of their partnership.

 

Booth has to clutch the sides of the sink when the full impact of the realization hits him. Why does he only get to find out now, three days after he threw that partnership back in her face, after he severed the one connection between them that had always held firm? Can fate really be cruel enough to dangle everything he ever wanted right in front of him _after_ he ruined it with a few angry words?

 

His thoughts fly back to Bones during _those_ moments, to the way her expression crumpled, and then tightened into the impenetrable mask she has used to keep the world at arm's length for as long as he has known her, and the sudden rush of desperate longing that accompanies the memory hits him like a physical blow.

 

For a moment, it becomes hard to breathe, and yet the pure, simple sensation of pain is an almost welcome relief from the confusion and the weight of unanswered questions. He _misses_ her, so much that his chest aches from it – and it's painful, but there's nothing mysterious or bewildering about it.

 

Quickly, before he has time to talk himself out of it, Booth returns to the bedroom and grabs his cell phone from the nightstand. Maybe she'll refuse to talk to him, maybe she'll tell him again to fuck off and leave her alone, but he has caused too much damage already by going with assumptions. No matter what the outcome will be, at least she'll know – no, they'll _both_ know that he tried.

 

She answers on the second ring, and it's only then that Booth realizes he has absolutely no idea what he wants to say to her. Bones must have checked the caller ID, though, because she doesn't wait for him to say anything.

 

"Booth, is everything all right?"

 

The question leaves him speechless for a second. He isn't sure what kind of reaction he expected, but concern definitely wasn't on the list. She kicked him out of her apartment, and now she's worried about him?

 

Then he remembers her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel when she drove him to the hospital for his check-up.

 

"Hi, Bones, I – everything's fine, I'm just calling because…" God, he probably hasn't sounded this stupid over the phone since he first worked up the nerve to call a girl back in high school. Why _is_ he calling, anyway? "I just wanted to know how you're doing."

 

It comes out so stilted that it makes him cringe. From the sound of it, Bones doesn't know what to do with the statement either, because there's nothing but puzzled silence for a few seconds.

 

When she finally answers, she sounds so carefully neutral that he wonders if she practiced the tone beforehand. "I'm fine." She pauses, and then adds, "I'm at work, catching up on my limbo cases." There's another pause, and Booth racks his brain for something to say when her next words take him by surprise. "How are you?"

 

It only occurs to him now that he should say something about the book, and he feels like his heart stops for a moment – because if he so much as mentions it, she'll know he got the check, and that will make her think he only calls because he feels obliged to. _Damn, damn, damn…_

 

Pushing back his rising panic, Booth does some very quick thinking. Didn't the publishing guy say she wouldn't know exactly when he got the check? So it's probably still safe to act clueless for the time being – maybe he's taking the coward's way out, but he's nowhere near ready to have _that_ conversation with her.

 

"Uh, yeah, I'm good…" He wants to say a little more, but he can't think of a safe topic – everything might end up coming out wrong, or making her think he has some kind of ulterior motive for calling. At long last, it's the thought of his son that saves him.

 

"I'm going to see Parker tomorrow – he's got the sniffles, so Rebecca doesn't want to send him over for the weekend."

 

"I'm sorry to hear that. Please tell him I hope he gets better soon."

 

He can't tell what kind of emotions she's hiding under the polite tone, and he hates that he doesn't seem able to get through to her – until he realizes that he hasn't given her much of an indication that he's even trying.

 

"I will, thank you – and, Bones, I just wanted to say…" He desperately searches for the right words, words that will give her an idea of what he wants to tell her without giving away too much, but his mind seems to have gone blank.

 

"Yes?" She doesn't sound impatient, but there's a hint of uncertainty in her tone, as if she weren't sure what to make of his sudden silence.

 

Booth takes a deep breath and decides to put his cards on the table. "I miss you."

 

He can only hope that he sounds sincere without coming across as whiny or pushy, and in spite of the fact that he pretty much expected it, he feels his heart sink when she doesn't answer. _Idiot_ , he chides himself, _what did you think you'd get in return? A declaration of undying love?_

 

 _Yesterday's wasn't good enough for you?_ a tiny voice at the back of his mind speaks up, stunning him into speechlessness for a second, but he quickly pulls himself together. He has said too much already to go back to playing it safe, so he might just as well make it clear that he means it. "So – do you mind if I call you from time to time? Just, you know, to see how you're doing?"

 

"That… would be acceptable." She hesitates again, and Booth braces himself for a qualifier that will render the small concession meaningless, but after a few moments of tense silence, she adds in a completely different, gentler tone, "I miss you too."

 

+++

 

After hanging up, Booth sits on the bed for a while and waits for his hands to stop shaking. The four little words keep replaying themselves in his mind over and over, and right now he finds it difficult to focus on any of the crap that went down between them in the last couple of weeks, on the bitter fights and the things they threw at each other throughout.

 

_I miss you too._

 

At long last, he pulls himself out of his dazed musings and tells himself to get a grip. As glad as he is of the fact that there might be a way for them to mend fences, he can't keep spending his days brooding over his girl troubles like a lovesick teenager. He has to keep working on getting better – for his own sake, for Parker's, and maybe even for hers because he needs to get his act together if whatever still exists between them is supposed to stand a chance.

 

With new determination, Booth digs out Genny's exercise plans and begins making up for the stuff he missed during the past few days. He'll have to go to the hospital again next… Monday, was it? for his outpatient therapy, but both the hospital therapists and Genny have made it abundantly clear that even the best therapy in the world won't help if he doesn't keep working on everything on his own as well. Around noon, he calls Rebecca's landline – Parker is with a sitter today, and he's awake this time, so Booth gets to talk to him for a while. Parker is still coughing and sneezing, but he doesn't sound too sick, and they end up debating which Disney movies they want to watch during Rebecca's planned marathon the next day, and if there'll be any way to avoid the super-girly ones she's so fond of.

 

He takes his lunch to the living room and eats it while watching the news. It's pretty disconcerting to realize how out of the loop he is – he has barely taken notice of anything that went on outside his immediate circle for months, but the fact that he completely missed the stir that Heather Taffet's trial must have caused was a bit of a wake-up call in that regard. Hiding away from the rest of the world isn't going to work any more, so he figures he'd better start paying attention to what's going on before Bones ends up having to explain stuff to _him_ instead of the other way around.

 

If they ever get to that point again, of course. The elation that he felt right after their conversation is beginning to fade, and even though he's still relieved that things don't seem to be as bad between them as they looked two days ago, he can't fool himself into thinking that everything will magically fix itself now just because she admitted that she misses him. It's tempting to read all kind of stuff into her book, but if the past months have taught him anything, it's how little he really knows of her thoughts and feelings, so there's still a chance that he's way off the mark with his assumptions.

 

Cursing under his breath, Booth goes to get his gym bag because a good workout is still the best way to stop himself from fretting over stuff he can't change. He's just about to leave when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket, alerting him to an incoming text message, and his heart skips a beat when he sees that it's from Bones.

 

_Hodgins' favorite huntsman spider escaped from his work room during lunch break. It's harmless, but Hodgins and Cam are very upset._

 

Booth blinks in surprise when he reads the message. Under different circumstances, he'd be snickering at the thought of Cam locking herself in her office while Hodgins is crawling around the lab searching for his wayward eight-legged baby before someone accidentally kills it or Cam deliberately kills him, but right now he isn't sure why Bones would tell him about it. It just feels random, and she usually doesn't do random…

 

…unless she, too, is looking for safe topics of conversation so they can keep talking to each other without having to fear that it's going to blow up in their faces any moment.

 

The thought leaves him with a curious feeling of warmth in his chest.

 

After some deliberation, Booth writes back _Better make sure Cam doesn't go all Black Widow on Hodgins_ and then walks out the door thinking that even though the sleet is still pelting against the windows, there might have been a change in the weather.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Booth is grateful when Rebecca doesn't comment on the fact that he's fifteen minutes late. God, he misses his SUV – public transport is a pain in the ass at the best of times, but in this awful weather, the trip left him ready to strangle someone with his bare hands. If it hadn't been for Bones' text message (informing him that Cam sent her to the decontamination shower after she caught Hodgins' spider in bone storage) halfway through, he probably would have.

 

"Dad, hi!" Parker waves at him from the couch; he's wrapped in blankets, but in spite of his bright-red nose and puffy eyes, he doesn't look too sick any more.

 

"Hey, buddy, how are you doing?" Booth holds out his fist for Parker to bump and then sits down next to him on the couch. To his surprise, the boy immediately scoots closer – Parker usually insists that he's too old to be cuddled, but now he snuggles into Booth's side when Booth puts an arm around him and holds on as if he were afraid that his father might disappear again any second. Booth takes a deep breath and tries to swallow the lump in his throat; Rebecca, too, looks like she's fighting back tears, and it takes him right back to their first visit at the hospital just a few months ago. Once again, it hits him that for better or worse, they're a family too – he and Rebecca may not love each other any more like they once did, but they'll always be Parker's parents, will always be the two people who put this boy before anything else in their lives.

 

 _At least while you're awake_ , the merciless voice at the back of his mind speaks up, and Booth winces at the fresh sting of guilt when he thinks of that other reality in which he was able to be happy without Parker. He has given up trying to convince himself that he's not responsible for his subconscious – he's Parker's father, and there's no excuse for forgetting about his child, no matter under which circumstances. Parker's obvious delight at having him near leaves Booth both grateful and deeply ashamed, and he silently asks his son for forgiveness.

 

"I'm fine, Dad!" Parker assures him with a beaming smile. "Mom says I can go back to school on Monday, and it's okay because I'm getting kinda bored, and I'll come stay with you on Wednesday. Can we make spaghetti and meatballs?"

 

"Yeah, sure." Booth has to grin at Parker's enthusiasm. "I guess you're really doing better if you've got your appetite back."

 

"The fever's down too, so I guess he should be fine by Monday." Rebecca plops down on the couch on Parker's other side; it's only now that Booth notices how exhausted she looks.

 

"You okay, Becca?"

 

She waves his concern aside. "I'm fine, Seeley – things are a little stressful at the moment, but I can handle it. Now, who's ready for some Disney?"

 

"Me, Mom – and I'm sick, so I get to pick first!"

 

Rebecca reaches over to ruffle her son's hair. "Okay, so what are we watching?"

 

"Aladdin!" Parker crows immediately, and to nobody's surprise – it's his favorite movie, and he has made Booth watch it so often that he can probably quote every line by heart. Booth doesn't mind, though; he sinks a little deeper into the cushions of Rebecca's couch and allows himself to just enjoy being with his son while Parker keeps up a running commentary intermingled with laughter and sneezes.

 

Rebecca makes them sandwiches for lunch after the movie is over, and then insists it's her turn to choose the next one. Parker groans around his last mouthful of sandwich and turns to Booth for help. "Don't let her pick _The Little Mermaid_!"

 

"Hey, I happen to like it." Rebecca is already inserting the DVD into the player although Parker keeps protesting.

 

"Dad, you said too that it's a totally girly movie!"

 

Rebecca gives Booth that raised-eyebrows look that every woman he has ever been with had down pat (do moms take their little girls aside and teach them 'This is how you make a guy's balls shrivel just by looking at him, child'?), and Booth fleetingly wonders what Bones would have to say about the whole thing before he reins in his thoughts and focuses on damage control. "Parker, it's your mom's turn, so it's up to her – and besides, I know for a fact that you totally love Sebastian!"

 

Rebecca's expression informs him in no uncertain terms that it wasn't his most elegant save ever, but then she has to grin when Parker, for all his grumbling, can't bring himself to deny his soft spot for the talking crab. 

 

Booth doesn't really pay attention to the movie; his mind keeps wandering back to his earlier thoughts of Bones. They've exchanged a few more messages since yesterday – not about anything of consequence, just sharing harmless little details about their days, and while he finds it reassuring that she seems determined to keep in touch, it also makes him uneasy that electronic small talk has become the only form of communication they're comfortable with. It's something, but it's not enough, and there's no way to ask her if she, too, hopes it might be the first step towards working out their problems, or if this is as far as she's still willing to go.

 

Christ, how did everything become so messed up and complicated between them? At moments like this, it's difficult not to start pining for that other life, when things were so much easier and he could be certain that she wanted to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with her. He knows what she thinks of that – he's never going to forget the look on her face when she accused him of dreaming about a person that isn't her, but he can't help the lingering sense of longing that still accompanies those memories, especially now that their cell phones have become the only connection which still exists between them.

 

Shaking his head, Booth gives up on that line of thought and forces himself to focus on the movie instead – it _is_ a little girly, but watching a cheesy Disney romance is still better than driving himself crazy by yearning for something that was never real.

 

" _Eric, if I may say, far better than any dream girl is one of flesh and blood. One warm, and caring, and right before your eyes_."

 

He does a double-take at the line spoken to the Disney prince on the screen – who, of course, will eventually find out that the girl of his dreams _is_ the one before his eyes, even if it takes him half the movie to figure out the blatantly obvious.

 

Booth sinks a little deeper into the couch and figures that you've hit an all-time low in your love life when you feel like you're getting relationship advice from a Disney flick.

 

+++

 

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, Booth is half-frozen and soaked to the skin thanks to the snowstorm that's raging outside. Parker fell asleep halfway during Booth's movie of choice – _The Sword in the Stone_ , which has been his favorite Disney movie since his childhood – and didn't even wake up when Booth got ready to leave, but it will only be a few days until he gets to see him again, and for the first time, Booth feels confident that he and Parker will be fine without Bones or Rebecca running interference.

 

He checks his mailbox on his way in and finds a slim parcel from Bones' publisher; obviously Andrew Something was quick to make good on his promise to send him a copy of Bones' book. Just like that, all the questions he has tried to put aside are right back at the forefront of his mind – Bones' story, the decision about that check that he still needs to make, and the fact that one way or the other, he'll eventually have to talk to her about it.

 

First things first, though – he needs to get out of his wet clothes, and then take a long, hot shower to make sure that the combination of Parker's germs and the walk back from the bus stop in this godawful weather doesn't leave him with his own bout of the flu. He resists the temptation of a quick wank in the shower because he knows only too well what kind of images his brain would supply him with; he needs his wits about him and can't afford _that_ kind of distraction. A part of him wonders how Bones would react to a text that said _Just jerked off to the image of you in that red dress from the Vegas case_ , but he hastily gets out of the shower before he can spin that particular idea any further.

 

Gritting his teeth, Booth sits down on his couch and forces himself to face the stack of mail on his coffee table, with Bones' check and the parcel containing her book right on top of it. At least he already knows what the book is about, even though it left him with more question than answers.

 

The cover looks pretty trashy (a gun, a few drops of blood and a cocktail glass with lipstick on it against an ominous grey-black background), but Booth's attention is drawn to the bright red letters of Bones' pen name. _Joy Scallion_ – the last name of a person he once pretended to be, the first name of the person she would have been if her parents hadn't been criminals. Once again, he feels like she's trying to tell him something, but he no longer dares to make assumptions where she is concerned.

 

He isn't planning to re-read her story now, but he still opens the book and finds a dedication page that was missing from the copy he had found online.

 

_For B – the center will hold._

+++

 

Booth isn't sure how long he has already been staring at the few words on the page, his mind strangely blank and a hollow, empty ache in his heart.

 

_The center will hold._

 

Did she foresee, when she wrote those words, that he would only get to read them after he'd proven her wrong? Did she think he would ever get to read them at all, or did she only write the book to make sure that he'd be taken care of because she was sure that he would spend the rest of his life in a hospital bed?

 

_For B._

 

Would she ever have made such a bold statement if she had known that he would wake up, that the day would come when he found out about her fantasy of them? Is that the reason why she was acting so strangely at the hospital, why she kept pulling back as soon as she realized that he couldn't keep reality apart from a dream life in which they'd been together?

 

Booth suddenly feels cold when he remembers how she blamed herself for planting the idea of having a child with her into his mind. Does she think that it was the root of his dreams of 'them' – did she assume from the beginning that he'd just inserted the idea into his own ideal of a happy family life, so that reading his coma journal only confirmed for her what she'd been fearing since he woke up thinking she was pregnant with his child?

 

Is that why she couldn't admit to her own fantasy, why she kept this from him for as long as possible even if she had made sure herself he would find out eventually? If she really believes that he had no romantic interest in her before the coma – God, how he's now cursing his own cowardice, his damned 'line' that he put up as a barrier between them because he didn't have the guts to risk his heart with her – and that he only convinced himself he loved her after she made him dream of having a family with her… is that why she sacrificed her own dream, pinned it down on paper so it would still serve the purpose of keeping him safe even if it could never come true?

 

 _Did_ she really ever want it to come true, or was it just a fleeting impulse brought about by the fear of losing him? He knows he means a lot to her – it's the one thing he has never doubted, and the fact that she's willing to keep trying even now tells him that _this_ connection is still there. Was there really ever more, though – did she really put her heart, her true desires into this story, or was it some spur-of-the-moment thing that she regretted once he woke up, once it became clear that he would one day confront her about it?

 

Booth massages the spot between his eyebrows with two fingers and wills his developing headache away; he needs to focus, needs to get to the bottom of this before he decides where to go from here.

 

One thing is certain – whatever her reasons for writing the book might have been, her reason for publishing it was the wish to support him, to make sure he'd be taken care of if he didn't recover at all, or not enough to provide for himself again. He can't help it that the thought makes him cringe, but it doesn't change the sad truth that he might very well have ended up needing it – hell, who is he fooling? He _does_ need it, because even if he manages to go back to work right away, he'll be paying off debts for years if he refuses her gift.

 

_I'm sick and tired of being your charity project._

 

For the first time, Booth finds himself pondering how he would feel if their roles were reversed – if she had found herself in a situation where she couldn't get by without his help, and yet refused to accept the help he was offering. Hasn't he been taught since early childhood that pride is one of the seven deadly sins?

 

And yet… he knows he wouldn't be where he is now if he hadn't learned to take care of himself, to make sure he could always stand on his own feet so he would never depend on help that might not come when he most needed it.

 

 _Just like she did_ , that annoying inner voice supplies, reminding him that the world-renowned scientist and bestselling author started out as an unwanted, unloved foster girl who had nobody in the world to be there for her when she would have needed help. It's not the same, though – because he always had others to take care of as well, not just himself; there was Jared when they were children (and if he's honest, long after they stopped being children), and now there's Parker who depends on him, who deserves everything Booth can give him.

 

…damn.

 

Booth bites his lip when the implications of that thought begin to dawn on him. If he wants Parker to have everything he can give him – doesn't that include swallowing his pride and taking Bones' money, not for himself but for Parker? A few days ago he saw no other way than to tap into Parker's college fund, so how can he refuse a ton of money that he can spend on his son's future? He knows money isn't everything, but he's also aware how much easier a good education is going to make Parker's life. What kind of father would he be if he let his ego stand in the way of that?

 

God, even Bones realized it when she included Parker in the trust. Or was that her plan all along – to get him to accept her money by making it about Parker?

 

He knows that he's being unfair, and probably ungrateful too, but he can't help the flash of resentment that accompanies the thought, and for a second, his memory takes him back to the home _he_ built for her, and for his family.

 

For the first time since he left Bones' apartment, Booth feels tempted to re-read his coma journal, to immerse himself in the happier memories of a time when he was still in charge of his own life instead of being dependent on others. He doesn't give in to the impulse – taking refuge in a dream because he can't deal with reality would make him feel even more pathetic than he already does, but it doesn't erase the painful sensation of yearning deep in his chest.

 

_The center will hold._

 

He wishes he could ask her if she still believes that.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

The following Monday, Booth gives in to the inevitable and stops by his bank on his way back from therapy at the hospital to deposit the check. He knows he should call Bones and finally talk about the whole thing with her, but the mere thought makes him cringe with embarrassment, so he just keeps answering her carefully light-hearted texts with carefully light-hearted replies and focuses on Genny's exercises and his workouts at the gym instead.

 

There are still moments when he misses her so much that it feels like a physical ache, and he can't resist the temptation to re-read her book once more, but he has no idea where they're supposed to go from here, or how he'll ever be able to look her in the eye again without feeling like the biggest loser on the planet.

 

His mood brightens considerably as soon as Wednesday rolls around and he goes (by cab, for once) to pick Parker up from school. They cook spaghetti and meatballs together, and Parker keeps chattering about his hockey game on Sunday that he'll get to play after all because his coach declared him fit enough after practice the previous day.

 

Booth feels a little guilty because he totally forgot about the game, but thankfully Parker doesn't know that – Booth promised him weeks ago that he'd come to watch him play, and there's no need to hurt the boy by admitting that it has slipped his mind in the meantime. At least, unlike his own father, he'll always be there cheering for his son when it matters.

 

 _Unless you're in a coma_ , the voice speaks up again, and Booth has to reach over and give Parker a one-armed hug while the boy is still busy with his spaghetti. To his surprise, Parker doesn't protest, and Booth is once again reminded that he'll probably never know how much Parker was really affected by his illness.

 

Parker doesn't give him time to ponder the issue, though. "Dad, Bones is still coming to my game too, right?"

 

Booth almost chokes on a meatball and is downright grateful for the few seconds it takes him to get his breath back because he has no idea what to answer. Parker is still talking anyway, although he sounds a little uncertain now.

 

"I mean, I asked her a long time ago, but she said she'll come. Do you think she has forgotten?"

 

"I – I don't know, bub." Booth pulls himself together and plasters a smile on his face. "Bones doesn't often forget stuff, but you know she's really busy, right? So maybe – "

 

"Can we call her and remind her, so she doesn't forget?" The look Parker gives him tells Booth that the boy is aware that _something_ is wrong here; he knows children are perceptive that way. Once again, he isn't sure what to say, but Parker spares him the decision by making a dash for Booth's cell phone that Booth left in his jacket when they came home.

 

"I'll call her right away, okay, Dad?"

 

Booth doesn't have the heart to stop him, although his stomach is clenching with sudden nervousness when Parker dials the first number on Booth's speed dial with practiced ease.

 

"Hi Bones, it's me, Parker… yeah, I'm fine again, and Mom and Dad are fine too. Are you still coming to my hockey game on Sunday? Dad says you're busy, but you promised!"

 

Booth doesn't hear Bones' answer – mostly because his heartbeat is overly loud in his ears, and he can only watch as Parker's expression brightens while he listens to her.

 

"Cool! Yeah, half past one, and don't be late! Do you want to talk to Dad?"

 

Booth feels like his heart stops for a moment. He has absolutely no idea what to say to her, but thankfully Parker just nods again and says, "Okay, I'll tell him. See you on Sunday!"

 

Then he hangs up and informs his father in a tone of deep satisfaction, "Bones says to tell you she said hi, and that she always keeps her promises."

 

Booth can't help wondering if she was thinking of _The center will hold_ when she said it.

 

+++

 

"Dr. Brennan, hi! Parker will be thrilled to see you!"

 

Booth hangs back a little at the entrance to the ice rink while Rebecca and Brent shake Bones' hand and make polite small-talk – that is, Rebecca does most of the talking while Brent nods along and Bones listens with a slightly frozen smile on her face. She doesn't meet Booth's gaze until they're inside and Rebecca, damn her, pushes him into a seat right next to the aisle and then drags Brent away to the other side so he and Bones end up sitting alone together.

 

"Hi." She hasn't stopped smiling, but it still looks like it's costing her some effort, and Booth fleetingly wonders if she's as nervous as he is.

 

"Hey." It comes out a little hoarse, and his smile probably isn't much more convincing than hers is.

 

"You look well." It's a statement, not a compliment, and her tone is too neutral for him to tell what she's thinking. He takes his time studying her in return; her cheeks are red from the cold, but she still seems paler than she should, and he can see the familiar dark circles under her eyes even though she tried to cover them with make-up.

 

"Yeah, I'm doing okay. You?" It's not his place any more to ask her if she's getting enough sleep, if she remembers to eat now that nobody drags her away from her bones to have lunch at the diner, and he knows how she'll answer his question before he hears her say the words.

 

"I'm fine."

 

He has no idea what to reply – no idea how to address any of the things that stand between them like a brick wall, how to make her understand that he never meant for any of this to happen, never meant to sever the connection between them that they both took for granted for so long.

 

At long last, it's Bones who breaks the awkward silence. "I'm afraid I still don't know very much about ice hockey – I was planning to read up on the rules, but the last days have been very busy at the lab, so there was no time. Will you explain to me what's going on so I'll be able to properly appreciate Parker's performance?"

 

Booth silently breathes a sigh of relief. Hockey and Parker are safe topics, allowing them to keep talking without getting into dangerous territory. They won't be able to keep tiptoeing around their issues forever, but even if he knew how to tackle them, this would be neither the time nor the place for _that_ kind of conversation.

 

Assuming she even wants to go further than small talk with him again, that is.

 

Booth pushes the thought away and reminds himself to focus on the present. She's here, at his son's game, and that has to count for something; she listens to his explanations with the same kind of focus she usually reserves for her bones, and she cheers along with him at every successful move of Parker's team. There aren't that many of them – Parker and his teammates are up against a much stronger team, but they knew going in that they probably weren't going to win this one, and it doesn't stop them from throwing themselves into the game without reservation. When he points that out to her, Bones declares that failure often provides a more valuable learning experience than success, and Booth can't help wondering if it's just one of her anthropological catchphrases or an attempt to tell him something.

 

Parker is in good spirits after the game in spite of his team's loss, and his face lights up further when Rebecca announces that they'll take him to his favorite pizza place to celebrate the occasion.

 

"Cool, Mom! Are Dad and Bones coming too?"

 

Booth tenses and feels Bones do the same next to him. They got this far without incident, but now Parker probably pushed her further than she's comfortable with. Rebecca doesn't give him time to step in, though.

 

"Seeley, you're coming with us, aren't you? What about you, Dr. Brennan?"

 

Bones seems to be struggling for words, and Booth wishes he could find a way to gloss over the awkward moment and give her a chance to escape without too much fuss, but Parker grabs her hand and gives her his best puppy-eyed look. "Bones, you have to come! They've got the greatest pizza in the world, and I want to tell you about my science project!"

 

"It's – it's very kind of you to invite me, Parker, but this seems to be a family occasion, so I shouldn't –"

 

"It is." Booth speaks up without thinking, which is probably a good thing because he wouldn't have had the guts to put his cards on the table like that if there had been time to picture all the ways in which he could be making things worse. "That's why you should come, Bones."

 

Her eyes widen, and his heart is in his throat when she gives him that unblinking stare that always makes him feel naked under her gaze. He knows that they're both thinking of his angry, thoughtless remark about wanting a real family, and he can only hope that she understands what she's trying to say, that she'll accept the olive branch and give him a chance to right this particular wrong before it can do even more damage than it already has.

 

After what feels like forever, she gives him a tiny, jerky nod and then turns back to Parker with a smile that looks a little more genuine than her earlier ones. "Then I'll be happy to join you."

 

+++

 

Booth hasn't breathed a word about his falling out with Bones to Parker, but he knows that children can be incredibly perceptive in that regard, and he's beginning to suspect that his son is trying to tell him something because Parker remains glued to Bones' side during the entire meal – first regaling her with a play-by-play of his game as if she hadn't watched the whole thing herself, then talking her ear off about his science project and informing Rebecca that Bones is 'the smartest scientist ever' and therefore the best person to give him advice when Rebecca tries to save Bones from the barrage of Parker's questions.

 

Bones doesn't seem to mind; she answers the boy's questions as seriously as she always does, and Booth can almost feel himself slipping back into the comforting familiarity of it all. He knows she's probably just playing along for Parker's sake, but still, she's sitting here with them because she didn't want to disappoint his son, because she hasn't stopped caring about a boy whose only connection to her is his father. He knows he shouldn't read too much into it, but it doesn't extinguish the small flicker of hope.

 

_The center will hold._

 

Parker tears into his pizza as if he hadn't eaten for days, but it isn't lost on Booth that he keeps eyeing Bones' plate as if he weren't sure what to make of the fact that someone would voluntarily put spinach on their pizza.

 

"Why do you only eat vegetables and stuff, Bones? I mean – I know they're good for you, but you don't have to eat them with everything, do you?"

 

Booth braces himself for a lecture on cholesterol, sodium and saturated fat, but to his surprise, Bones just shrugs. "There are many health benefits to a vegetarian diet, but in this case, it's mostly a matter of personal taste – spinach and feta cheese used to be my favorite pizza topping even before I became a vegetarian."

 

Parker's expression is so shocked that Rebecca and Brent burst out laughing. Bones just smiles and takes a huge bite, and Parker's expression turns thoughtful as he watches her chew.

 

"Can I try it?"

 

Booth feels his jaw drop. Getting Parker to eat his vegetables is an ongoing battle of wills, and from the look on her face, Rebecca can't believe what she just heard either. Bones, however, doesn't seem to notice and just offers Parker a slice of her pizza. "Help yourself, I won't be able to finish it anyway."

 

Ignoring his parents' disbelieving stares, Parker takes a small bite. He starts chewing with an expression as if he expected it to explode in his mouth any moment, but then his face gradually relaxes. "You know, this isn't so bad."

 

Booth resists the urge to pinch himself as he watches his son polish off the rest of the slice in record time. Maybe he's imagining things, but it seems to him that Parker keeps throwing him meaningful glances, although he finds it hard to believe that his son would be willing to eat _spinach_ just to make a point.

 

His own astonishment is nothing compared to Rebecca's, though; she sounds downright awed when she asks Bones, "Can you do that with broccoli too?"

 

"Yuck!" Parker cries immediately, and Bones looks a little sheepish when she admits, "I'm afraid I'm not very fond of broccoli myself."

 

"Seriously?" Once again, Booth speaks up without thinking; he hasn't said more than a dozen words throughout the meal so far, but now he can't keep quiet. "You keep lecturing me about rabbit food, but _you_ won't eat broccoli?"

 

He remembers a split second too late that they no longer needle each other like that, but Bones seems to have forgotten about it too. "Being a vegetarian doesn't mean that I have to enjoy all kinds of vegetables indiscriminately." She gives him a pointed look that feels so _normal_ that it makes his throat constrict. "Or would you be willing to eat dog meat just because you're a passionate carnivore?"

 

Booth has no idea what to say, how to react to this sudden return of the old, easy banter between them, but Parker, looking thoroughly scandalized, beats him to the answer anyway.

 

"But dogs are not for eating – they're real smart, and puppies are cute!"

 

"Pigs are extremely smart, and piglets are very cute too – and so are calves and baby chicks," Bones states matter-of-factly, and Booth winces at Parker's look of horror. "There are cultures that would react to the concept of eating pork or beef with the same kind of revulsion that you feel at the idea of eating a dog, and on the other hand, dog meat is considered a delicacy in some parts of the world."

 

"Ew." Parker makes a face, but still seems to mull this over. "Have you ever…?"

 

"I've never been offered dog meat so far, no." Booth struggles with a sudden sense of déjà vu; isn't that what she said to that horny sheriff in the middle of nowhere when they were chasing a cannibal? "I ate a python once, though – well, a slice of python, to be precise."

 

"Wow, seriously? Cool!" Parker is immediately fascinated again, although Rebecca is beginning to look a little green around the gills now. Booth frowns; ick factor aside, he has trouble reconciling that story with his own experiences when it comes to Bones and snakes, and his expression must give away what he's thinking because she gives him a strange look.

 

"What?"

 

She doesn't sound hostile, merely curious, and Booth finds himself wondering if this is another remnant of his coma life, if her panicked reaction during that weird Halloween night was just another figment of his imagination (because her Wonder Woman costume could definitely have come straight out of his fantasy) – but then he remembers that Zack was still around at the time, so it must have been way before his coma.

 

"I just – I thought you hate snakes, but you were okay with python steak?"

 

Is she really blushing a little? "I have a mild case of ophidiophobia, yes, but it only manifests as an aversion to small snakes – I'm aware that it's irrational because it's triggered by their way of wiggling around and constantly smelling the air with their tongues, not by the knowledge that some of them are poisonous. I've never minded boas and pythons, though."

 

 _And here I thought you only mind them when I'm around to rescue you_. Booth knows better than to say that out loud, of course; he isn't even sure where the idea comes from, because he remembers how she handled a huge snake during that weird voodoo case in New Orleans – and how he found it both creepy and more than a little hot to watch her.

 

 _That_ , however, is the last thing he should be thinking about right now. Mentally calling himself to order, Booth tries to come up with something else to say that will allow them to keep things easy and lighthearted between them. "So you admit that it was irrational to shoot me just because you were so afraid of the snakes?"

 

Parker's eyes go wide. "You shot Dad, Bones?"

 

Booth knows he might be pushing his luck, but it just feels so good to tease her again, and it makes him almost giddy with relief when she narrows her eyes at him in a way that feels incredibly familiar. "That was an accident which was completely unrelated to the snakes, and your father knows it perfectly well, Parker."

 

"Yeah, sure." Booth gives her a grin. "It's just a little weird to think of you having something as _psychological_ as a phobia."

 

Now she's glaring daggers at him, but Booth doesn't miss the way her mouth is slightly turning up at the corners. "And yet _I_ have never shot a clown."

 

Booth raises his hand in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, you got me there."

 

Her answering smile lights up her face, and Booth allows himself to bask in the feeling of blessed normalcy for a moment before reality catches up with them again. Rebecca seems eager to leave (probably to avoid hearing any more stories about eating dogs and snakes), and before long they're outside the restaurant saying goodbye. Booth experiences a moment of panic when he realizes that his apartment is on Bones' way home, because he has no idea what he's supposed say if she offers to give him a ride – as much as he wants to fix things between them, he feels nowhere near ready to be alone with her. The fight, her book, the crazy, wordless nights they spent together – there's way too much stuff he still isn't sure how to deal with, and he doesn't think he can discuss them with her before he hasn't made sense of his own convoluted feelings.

 

He needn't have worried, though. Bones doesn't say anything; she bids Rebecca and Brent goodbye, and then seems about to do the same with Parker when the boy wraps his arms around her waist and gives her a hug. "Thanks for coming, Bones!"

 

She blushes again, but she smiles at Parker and bends down to hug him back. "Thank you for inviting me, Parker." Then she raises her head to look directly at Booth when she adds, "I'm very happy that I got to see you again."

 

Booth feels his mouth go dry. Just for a second, it feels like they're alone, like she's speaking only to him, and he holds her gaze and hopes desperately that he's reading her correctly. She gives him a quick nod as she lets go of Parker, and Booth manages to nod back and hopes fervently that the woman who seems to have studied his body language for years will be able to understand him even though he's at an utter loss for words.

 

He follows her with his eyes when she walks away; she doesn't look back, but she doesn't seem in a hurry to get away either, and when Parker yells "Bye, Bones!" across the street as she gets into her car, she turns and gives them a little wave before closing the door and driving off.

 

"Do you think she really ate a snake, Dad?" Parker doesn't seem ready to let go of the topic, and Booth shoots Rebecca an apologetic look because he's sure Rebecca will be hearing about it for days.

 

"You know Bones doesn't make stuff up, bub." _Unless it's stories about night club owners… and maybe not even then._

 

"Awesome," Parker declares, and Booth nods and casts another glance in the direction in which her car disappeared.

 

"Yeah, I guess she is."

 

+++

 

Booth has trouble falling asleep that night. He watches the light of the streetlamp outside draw shadows on the walls and ceiling of his bedroom through the half-closed blinds; the bizarre shapes make no more sense to him than the whirling images in his brain.

 

His heart is aching with the loss of something he didn't even know he missed until today – but now the memory those unexpected moments of easy camaraderie between them forces him to realize that he hasn't felt this much like himself in what seems like forever, that he never even knew how desperately he has missed the part of _them_ that he rediscovered today.

 

For a second, Booth is tempted to switch on the bedside lamp and pull his coma journal out of the nightstand drawer, but the moment passes quickly. He already knows it won't help – reading about his fantasies of a life that was never real won't bring back the woman he loves, it will only make it harder to get through the next day without her. She'll probably text him again, and he will too, or maybe he'll even call her – but it's not enough, it can never be enough, and if today has proven anything, it's the fact that no matter what went down between them, he is neither willing nor able to let go of her.

 

From the look of it, neither is she.

 

_The center will hold._

 

Booth has always believed in faith and hope, but now he finds that he's reluctant to let himself trust in what his instincts are telling him. They insist that there's no way he's reading her _that_ wrong, that the woman who sat by his side today in spite of everything that has happened, who shared her dream of them in the thinnest of disguises because she wanted to take care of him is well worth risking his heart again.

 

And yet… his wandering thoughts keep stumbling over short, snapshot-like shreds of scenes that still haven't fully faded from his mind. From that heart-wrenching night on the steps of the Hoover to the day he watched her walk away from him at the airport – like tiny shards of glass, they can never be put together again to form a coherent whole, but their jagged edges are still sharp enough to cut. He knows they aren't real, that those moments were nothing more than products of his comatose mind, and her devastated expression when she found out about them will forever be burned into his memory. The knowledge doesn't help, though; it doesn't ease the wary sense of déjà vu, doesn't silence the voice at the back of his brain that tells him he's setting himself up for another, even deeper fall if he refuses to learn from past mistakes. What was it Cam said about the definition of insanity, right before she set the events in motion that have brought him to this point?

 

Booth wakes to the grey light of a pale winter morning with a dull ache behind his eyes. He feels like he hasn't slept at all last night; or maybe he was asleep the whole time while his brain was tying itself into knots trying to make sense of his conflicting feelings.

 

With a sigh, he reaches for the nightstand drawer and takes out Gordon Gordon's book. He weighs it in his hands for a moment, debating with himself whether he should open it, but eventually he decides against it. Whatever Gordon Gordon was hoping to achieve by making him write down his coma memories, it backfired big time, and now he's left to deal with the fallout by himself.

 

Or maybe… not?

 

Booth stares at the book for a few more seconds, reluctant to give in to the feeling of defeat that's creeping up on him. He has always prided himself on being self-reliant, but he can't fool himself any longer into believing that he's going to work this out on his own. Gordon Gordon messed up with the book, but it wasn't like he could know that Bones would read it, and perhaps it's time to stop blaming others for everything that's going wrong in his life and start working on getting out of this mess instead.

 

Doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable churning in his stomach, Booth puts the book away and reaches for his cell phone instead.

 

+++

 

"I admit this is a bit of a surprise, Agent Booth."

 

Gordon Gordon takes a sip of his inevitable tea and leans back in his armchair, looking for all the world as if they were just having a friendly chat. Booth perches on the edge of the overstuffed couch and fiddles with his teacup; he isn't planning to actually drink the stuff, but it's a way to keep his hands occupied.

 

"Why? I mean, I've been here plenty of times before – "

 

"Yes, but this is the first time you actually asked to see me instead of acting as if you were doing me a favor by talking to me." The beaming smile that accompanies the remark eases the sting, but only a little, and in spite of himself, Booth can't help getting defensive.

 

"Hey, what matters is that I _did_ talk, isn't it?"

 

"Granted, we've talked quite a lot, but I'm afraid that you haven't actually _said_ all that much during those occasions." For some reason, Gordon Gordon seems to find that observation highly amusing. "As a matter of fact, I gained most of my insights from the things you _didn't_ say, not from the things you actively chose to share."

 

Booth bites his lip. As much as he'd love to deny the thinly veiled reproach, he knows that Gordon Gordon has a point.

 

"Fine, you're right, okay?" The admission doesn't come easily, but he promised himself that he's done running away from his problems. "You know I'm not into that whole 'in touch with your feelings' thing…" He falls silent for a moment at the unexpected sensation of déjà vu – has he said these words before? They feel strangely familiar, even if he can't place them. "… but I need you to help me figuring out what's going on with Bones."

 

Gordon Gordon raises his eyebrows. "If your current problem pertains Dr. Brennan, wouldn't it be better to ask her instead of me?"

 

"She won't tell me anything." Booth puts his cup on the coffee table to avoid crushing it between his fingers. "I tried, but… it always ends with us yelling at each other."

 

"That must make sharing an apartment rather awkward."

 

Booth averts his eyes. "She kicked me out two weeks ago."

 

If Gordon Gordon is surprised, he isn't showing it. "Just like that? I was under the impression that Dr. Brennan was very invested in your recovery."

 

Booth still can't bring himself to meet the shrink's gaze. "I told her I was tired of being her charity project."

 

"I see." Christ, isn't there anything that gives this guy pause? Booth almost wants to resent Gordon Gordon for his unflappable demeanor, but it's the reason why he's here, after all. "Are you?"

 

"Am I what?"

 

"Tired of Dr. Brennan's help, of course. Isn't that what you just said?"

 

Booth sighs. "Look, that's really not the point, doc – I was pissed off, and I just… I guess I wasn't really thinking about what I was saying."

 

Gordon Gordon nods. "So what, exactly, are you asking of me now? As much as your faith in my abilities flatters me, I'm afraid I have to remind you that mind-reading is not among my skills."

 

"I know that, okay?" Once more, Booth reminds himself to keep his temper under control. "Just – I thought maybe you can help me figure this out, because I keep making things worse whenever I try."

 

"Agent Booth." Gordon Gordon sounds almost gentle, which makes Booth feel like he's on his deathbed or something. "You are aware that I don't know Dr. Brennan nearly as well as you do, aren't you? You're a man who has always trusted his instincts, so what are they telling you now?"

 

"That was before, doc." Booth tries to make it sound like a statement, not like a complaint, but it still comes out whinier than he would have preferred.

 

"Before the coma, you mean."

 

"Yeah. I – I'm not sure I'm that guy any more."

 

Gordon Gordon ponders that for a while; then he takes another sip from his cup and states, "I suppose you'd better start at the beginning."

 

Booth nods tersely; he has been dreading this part, but he knew going in that he wouldn't get around it. He forces himself to relax his tense posture a little because his back is beginning to ache, takes a deep breath and starts talking.

 

He leaves nothing out – this isn't like his quasi-confession to Cam in the car (God, was that really just two weeks ago? It feels like it's been months) where he could stick to the cliff notes; Gordon Gordon will need to know exactly what's been going on, because even though he's the only shrink who really seems to know what he's doing (coma journal disasters notwithstanding), Booth has found out the hard way how terribly wrong things can go if you're drawing conclusions without having all the facts. The only parts he censors are the details of what's been going on between him and Bones in the bedroom – there are some things that he isn't ever going to share with anyone, not even with his confessor, and he's sure that Gordon Gordon will get the picture anyway.

 

It takes forever to cover everything, but Gordon Gordon doesn't interrupt. He nods along to Booth's words, and mutters a non-committal "hm" or "I see" under his breath every now and then; the only thing that gets an "oh dear" out of him is the story of Bones reading Booth's coma journal, but other than that he remains silent and keeps sipping his tea until Booth is finally done.

 

Booth would never have guessed that talking could be this exhausting. He feels completely wrung out, and when he reaches for his teacup to fill the sudden, awkward silence, he notices that his hands are shaking. Putting the events of these past months into words has brought it all back at once – the loss, the anger, the guilt and the frustration at his own inability to find a way out of this mess. He tries to remember the hopeful moments from the last few days, like Bones' admission that she misses him too or the look she gave him when she told Parker that she was happy to see him again, but it feels like they're being crushed under the weight of everything that happened before, everything that brought them to the point where he's left clinging to straws like these in the first place.

 

Isn't admitting your problems supposed to make you feel better? So far, it's definitely not happening for him.

 

After a while, Gordon Gordon gets up to retrieve a slim volume from one of the overflowing bookshelves. Booth stares when he places it on the coffee table; it's a well-worn copy of Bones' _Lab Rats_.

 

"You _knew_?"

"I did not, but you could say that I had a feeling." Gordon Gordon gives him an enigmatic smile. "I saw this book being advertised as the secret work of a world-famous author, and I admit that it piqued my curiosity. I've read a few of Dr. Brennan's earlier novels, and even though she did her best to change her style with this one, some things about the narrative and the depiction of the main characters felt familiar to me. I think you were still in the hospital at the time."

 

Something clicks in Booth's mind. "Is that why you made all these quips about writing when Bones and I first came to see you?"

 

Gordon Gordon's smile widens. "I couldn't resist the temptation to pry a little, and Dr. Brennan's reaction confirmed my suspicions. Anyway…"

 

He leans back and crosses his feet at the ankles. "In spite of my initial disclaimer, I have to say that what you told me left me with a fairly clear picture of Dr. Brennan's state of mind – I would even go so far as to say that she has been surprisingly open towards you in that regard."

 

Booth tenses. "So what you're saying is that I should be able to see what's going on? That the only problem is that I'm too stupid to get it?"

 

"You know, if I still were a psychologist, I'd read all kinds of things into such a statement, Agent Booth." Gordon Gordon gives him a wink, but then turns serious again. "However, that's not what I'm saying – what I mean is that I remain convinced you do still possess your instincts, only you no longer trust them, which makes you reluctant to accept the most obvious interpretation of Dr. Brennan's actions as the truth."

 

When Booth doesn't answer, Gordon Gordon leans forward a little. "For pity's sake, man, she never left your side since you fell ill, she cast the two of you as the protagonists in a love story, she made sure your medical and financial needs would be taken care of even if something happened to her – do you really expect me to believe that doesn't tell you anything?"

 

"I'm not an idiot, okay?" Booth snaps back. "Did you listen to what I said? I know what she did for me, but that's just one half of the story – and during the other half she acted like she could barely tolerate me, like… like I was cheating on her with her evil twin or something!"

 

"Let's start with that, then." Gordon Gordon doesn't seem bothered by Booth's outburst, and Booth is left feeling a little sheepish about losing his self-control like that. "The Dr. Brennan in your coma life – the mother of your unborn child, the woman who was willing to share her life with you. Was she different from the real Dr. Brennan? Did she, as would befit a fantasy, possess abilities or general qualities that the real Dr. Brennan lacks?"

 

The question takes Booth by surprise, and he struggles to come up with an answer. It makes him wish he had brought his coma journal – the memories of that life are so fragmented by now that it has become difficult to piece them together into a coherent whole.

 

"Not really, no – I mean, other than the fact that she eventually came round to the idea of a relationship in the first place. But…" – he pauses, vaguely remembering fights, and power struggles, and painful misunderstandings – "…she was definitely having trouble adapting, and it took a while until she accepted what it really means to be in a relationship."

 

"And how did she get to that point?"

 

Booth hesitates. "Well, it wasn't always easy – and I don't remember many details, but I guess that she was willing to learn, and to…"

 

"To learn from you, you mean."

 

_Where do you get the arrogance to consider yourself an authority on the topic?_

 

Booth freezes; not so much at Gordon Gordon's words but at the memory of Bones' angry accusation that they bring back. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

 

"Defensive again." Gordon Gordon clicks his tongue. "Agent Booth, I'm not attacking you in any way, I'm merely trying to get to the bottom of this issue. Is it fair to say that the Dr. Brennan in your coma life had accepted your general concept of an ideal relationship?"

 

Booth leans back and crosses his arms; right now he doesn't care what kind of shrinky crap Gordon Gordon is going to read into that. "Some parts of it, but definitely not everything. She still didn't want to get married, for example."

 

"You proposed to her, then?"

 

Booth clenches his teeth; there's no way in hell he's going to admit telling Bones that she would eventually propose to him. He'd only been joking anyway, right?

 

_Are you honestly telling me that you can see me in that kind of scenario?_

 

"No, I didn't – I learned my lesson in that regard."

 

"Because of her earlier rejection."

 

"Among other things." Booth forcibly reminds himself to relax; he's tense all over, and he hasn't felt this uncomfortable since he left the hospital.

 

"Like the fact that she ran away whenever she got scared."

 

_Have I ever abandoned you when you needed me?_

 

"Yeah." Booth has trouble getting the answer out; his voice seems unwilling to obey him.

 

"And did that make you angry at her?"

 

"Of course it did. What are you getting at? I know none of it was real, and it's not like I chose to have that stuff play out in my mind – it really was no fun at the time, believe me!"

 

"I do believe you." Gordon Gordon steeples his fingers and gives Booth a calculating look. "On the other hand, I can see why it would trouble Dr. Brennan to read about these things."

 

"Yeah, thanks a lot for that, doc." Booth can't keep the sarcasm out of his tone even though he knows it's unfair. Gordon Gordon made him write down his coma memories, but he never suggested sharing them with Bones, after all.

 

"For what it's worth, Agent Booth, I'm truly sorry about that – but I think that in spite of all the distress it caused, Dr. Brennan's reaction to the uncensored story of your coma life might prove helpful to you both in the long run." He holds up a hand to cut off Booth's protest. "No, please hear me out. You told me Dr. Brennan believes that the woman you love isn't her, but a manifestation of your own ideals and desires that replaced her in your mind. Would you say that's true?"

 

Booth shrugs. "That's what she said."

 

"You, on the other hand, admit that the Dr. Brennan in your coma life hurt you in ways the real Dr. Brennan never has, yet eventually proved more accepting of your relationship ideals than the real Dr. Brennan has been so far." Gordon Gordon seems downright pleased, even though Booth really can't see any reason for it. "Do you remember our little talk when I came to see you at Dr. Brennan's apartment? When I told you how similar you and Dr. Brennan are in many regards?"

 

Booth just nods; he has no idea any more where this is going, so he figures it's best to keep quiet.

 

"If you want my professional opinion, I think that at the heart of all your problems is the deep-seated belief that you can never be good enough for her."

 

Gordon Gordon smiles when he sees Booth's astonished expression. "You don't seem in a hurry to contradict me." When Booth doesn't answer, he continues, "I've reminded you before that dreams are as much an expression of a person's fears as of their desires. Dr. Brennan rejecting you, leaving you when you would have needed her most – these are things that other people have really done to you before, and it's hardly surprising that you would fear they could happen again with the person who matters most to you. On the other hand, you seem reluctant to believe that the Dr. Brennan you know would ever be willing to enter into a relationship with you, so your subconscious removed the issues that you assume to stand between the two of you. Unfortunately, when Dr. Brennan read these scenes, they reinforced _her_ fear that the woman you want to be with isn't her."

 

He pauses for a moment as if to organize his thoughts. "It also explains why you keep having such a hard time accepting Dr. Brennan's help. You define yourself by your independence, by your ability to solve your own problems, and you know she does the same – I would even say it's one of the traits you admire about her, even if it frustrates you at times. Therefore, I would deduce that you're convinced she'll consider you weak if you accept her help, while Dr. Brennan feels like you're rejecting her if you refuse to let her help you, or if you feel humiliated by the fact that she's trying to help you in the first place."

 

It takes Booth a while to get his whirling thoughts in order, but at long last he manages to latch on to the aspect of Gordon Gordon's theory that makes the least sense to him. "Doc, all these nice ideas are based on the assumption that Bones is in love with me – and has been way before my coma."

 

"Agent Booth, please stop being deliberately dense." For the first time, Gordon Gordon sounds a little stern. "You _have_ read her book, haven't you?"

 

Booth briefly considers reminding him of all those philosophical theories he spouted about capturing dreams on paper, but he figures it's an argument he's not going to win. Instead, he focuses on another issue that Gordon Gordon has ignored entirely so far. "We're still talking about the woman who wanted to have my child without involving me, right?"

 

"Ah yes – the woman who wanted 'a piece of you', if I remember correctly." Gordon Gordon chuckles a little. "I found that wording rather peculiar at the time, but I think it fits well into everything else you told me."

 

"Oh, really?" Booth can't help the hint of sarcasm that's slipping into his tone. "I'm afraid you'll have to explain to me how that works for you."

 

"Let me ask you something." Gordon Gordon gives him a calculating look. "Had Dr. Brennan ever expressed the desire to have a child before she came to you with her request?"

 

Booth snorts. "No way – she kept telling everyone that she didn't want children."

 

"Then what changed her mind?"

 

Booth shrugs. "How should I know? It came completely out of the blue – maybe her biological clock got the better of her at last."

 

"And it happened just a few months after you had almost been killed right in front of her, didn't it?"

 

"I – yeah, I guess?" Booth quickly re-calculates the timeline – he has gotten rather good at it of it out of necessity by now.  "A little less than a year, I think."

 

"From what I've heard, she reacted rather strongly to the experience."

 

In spite of the fact that he doesn't feel much like laughing at the moment, Booth has to grin at the memory. "She socked me in the jaw when she found out I wasn't really dead – right there at my own funeral."

 

Gordon Gordon remains serious. "Agent Booth, do you remember what Dr. Brennan had to say about the issue when she was here with you? How she refused to go through with the insemination after you fell ill because she felt horrified by the idea of giving up on you and replacing you with your child? And how she admitted to feeling guilty?"

 

"Yeah, so?" Booth isn't sure what Gordon Gordon is getting at – until he's hit by the memory of something Bones said when he they were fighting about Taffet's upcoming trial _._

_Our partnership and friendship had become very precious to me, and I should have been content with that instead of asking too much of you after I had been forced to realize how difficult it would be for me to deal with losing you._

 

Booth feels like he's been hit over the head with a baseball bat when the implications begin to dawn on him. Wasn't that when she told him that she had accepted his line because she assumed that he wasn't interested in her romantically?

 

Jesus Christ, is it really possible that Bones has loved him all these years and never told him because she was sure he didn't want more than friendship and partnership from her?

 

That doesn't make sense, does it?

 

"You think she wanted to have my baby because she thought that it… that it was all she could have of me?"

 

Gordon Gordon nods gravely. "That would be my conclusion, yes. I don't believe it was a conscious decision – remember how Dr. Brennan herself admitted that she was 'going with her gut' at the time? She had almost lost you, she was convinced that she could never be more than a partner to you, so she went for the next best thing. Then your illness forced her to consider the underlying reasons for her decision, and she felt like she had tried to replace you."

 

Booth shakes his head. "But – I told her I couldn't have a child with her without being involved, so why didn't she tell me then?"

 

Gordon Gordon raises his eyebrows. "You told her that you wanted to be involved with her?"

 

Booth replays the memory in his mind, and his shoulders slump in defeat. "I told her I wanted to be a real father, so I guess she assumed I was talking about the baby."

 

 _Was_ he only talking about the baby at the time? Those moments were so full of panic and confusion that he can't be sure any more.

 

"Which is probably why Dr. Brennan believes that your subconscious ran with _that_ idea during your coma, but added a manifestation of your own desires instead of her to form your idea of a perfect family."

 

Booth has no idea what to say any more. After a while of uncomfortable silence, Gordon Gordon takes pity on him. "For what it's worth, Agent Booth, I firmly believe that you've been in love with Dr. Brennan for a very long time as well, but it seems to me that unlike you, Dr. Brennan was aware of her feelings for you long before your coma and consciously struggled to keep them hidden instead of burying them under a thick layer of denial like you did." He chuckles again. "I had a very interesting debate with young Dr. Sweets about the topic when we were discussing his book."

 

"You told Sweets that Bones is in love with me??"

 

"Goodness gracious, no – there are some things a brilliant young prodigy needs to work out for himself, don't you think? Satisfy my curiosity, though, Agent Booth – why _did_ you draw that line in the first place? From what you told me, you two started out with acknowledged mutual attraction, so what made you pull back?"

 

Booth takes a deep breath and remembers standing at the curb in the rain, lips still tingling from her kiss, while she got into a cab that would take her away from him. "I guess I – I was afraid that I would lose her if it didn't work out."

 

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

 

Booth bites his lip, remembering her tear-stained face on the steps of the Hoover. "Yeah, I guess it does."

 

Gordon Gordon reaches for his teacup and takes a sip. "So we're facing a bit of a conundrum here – the fact that both of you are afraid of not being what the other one wants, or rather, of not being good enough to be that person for the other one."

 

Booth shakes his head; as much as he'd love to believe Gordon Gordon's theory, it doesn't fit the woman he has known for five years. Maybe Bones does love him, but thinking she's not good enough for him? Temperance 'I'm the best in the world' Brennan?

 

"Sorry, doc, I'm not buying it. I mean – okay, I know that she's out of my league, but if you think that it all comes down to inferiority complexes, that's definitely not an issue for Bones."

 

To his surprise, Gordon Gordon nods. "I suppose I should be a bit more precise. As similar as many of your experiences were, there's a slight difference between your reactions. You, Agent Booth, spent your childhood with a physically abusive drunk, and even though you tried to do your best, it was never enough to get your father to change his behavior. In the end, he still abandoned you in spite of your best efforts, and it left you with a lingering fear of not being good enough for the people you love. It led to – forgive me – an almost desperate need to be needed, and you define yourself by that need. Dr. Brennan, on the other hand, was a happy, cherished child who found herself alone and unwanted overnight, and no matter how smart or good or successful she was, it didn't change the way the people around her treated her because they just didn't care. Therefore, where you feel unworthy, she feels unwanted; where you want to be needed, she wants to matter."

 

Booth has begun chewing on his knuckles without realizing it. Gordon Gordon's words have taken him back to the memory of Bones hugging a foster boy and sharing a story about garbage bags – _like everything you own is garbage_ – and being sent from place to place; he remembers that case in Hollywood when she completely lost it at the idea of a young woman's identity being erased by greedy plastic surgeons and unrealistic beauty ideals. Isn't that what she has been doing her whole professional life – giving people back their faces, their names, their stories to make sure that their lives still matter?

 

Is that why she started pulling back when she thought that she didn't matter to him any more because he had replaced her with a fantasy?

 

That's only one side of the coin, though.

 

"Bones doesn't need me." He can't fool himself into believing otherwise – especially not these days, when he's still basically useless.

 

"No, she probably doesn't." In spite of the harsh verdict, Gordon Gordon is smiling. "You matter to her, though, wouldn't you say?"

 

_The center will hold._

 

_I miss you too._

 

"Maybe." It comes out as a hoarse whisper; it's all Booth can manage at the moment. "So… what am I supposed to do now?"

 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Agent Booth – I can help putting the pieces together, but _you_ will have to decide what you want to do with the finished picture. Do you love Dr. Brennan? The real one, I mean?"

 

Booth is a little surprised by how easily the answer comes to him. "Of course I do."

 

Gordon Gordon's smile widens. "That seems like a good place to start."

 

+++

 

Booth leaves Gordon Gordon's house with a new sense of purpose. He hasn't made up his mind how he's going to deal with the things they discussed, how Gordon Gordon's theories are going to help with his attempts to mend fences with Bones, but he still feels like he has taken a step in the right direction, even if he isn't sure yet where the journey is going to take him.

 

Once he's home, he sits on his couch for a while and stares at his phone, pondering whether he should call her. He hasn't spoken with her since Parker's game, and he'd love to hear her voice again, but the idea of calling for another exchange of careful, neutral chit-chat isn't very appealing. He knows that the things they really need to talk about shouldn't be discussed over the phone, but he still wishes he had something more substantial to share with her than just another round of small talk.

 

The realization takes him back to an idea that has been on his mind for a while now – ever since he began to realize that he's almost back to his old level with his workouts at the gym, and that he's having less and less trouble with his memory and his grasp on reality. He knows he isn't fully recovered yet, but he hopes that after his next scheduled check-up with Dr. Bryar in January, she'll declare him fit to go back to work, even if it's just for desk duty. It's a goal he has been working towards for some time, but suddenly the weeks he'll still have to wait until the appointment seem impossibly long. He isn't completely sure he's ready, but he feels like he has been stalling for far too long, so maybe it's time to start taking chances again.

 

He feels almost giddy when he makes the call to the hospital, but the nurse who answers puts a dampener on his good mood right away. She barely lets him finish his question before snapping at him that Dr. Bryar is extremely busy, and that there's no way she'll be able to move his appointment forward.

 

A few months ago, that might have been enough to fob him off, but he isn't the guy who was at the mercy of his nurses any more.

 

"No offense, but I don't believe that you know Dr. Bryar's entire schedule by heart, so could you at least check if there's an opening, please?"

 

The nurse gives a long-suffering sigh. "What was your name again?"

 

Booth hears her typing his info into the computer; she's still ranting about Dr. Bryar's busy schedule until she suddenly stops mid-sentence. "Oh, I… I may have been mistaken there, Sir – it looks like Dr. Bryar might have time for you after all if… would Thursday morning at ten thirty be okay?"

 

Her tone is all sugar now, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that she found a note about his connection to the owner of the Cantilever group in Booth's record. Booth isn't sure how he feels about this unexpected turn; considering the hard time he has given Hodgins about the issue in the past, it seems hypocritical to rely on Hodgins' money to bend the rules for him now. On the other hand, he's well aware that Bones milked his status as Hodgins' colleague and friend for all it was worth while he was out – she knew fully well how he'd feel about it, but he understands that she didn't let it stop her because she cared more about getting him the best possible care than about his principles.

 

What was it Gordon Gordon said about accepting help?

 

"Ten thirty on Thursday is fine, thank you."

 

 _You're an opportunistic asshole_ , the stern voice of his conscience informs him, but Booth finds that it's a price he's willing to pay if it means another step forward on the way towards getting his life back.

 

+++

 

God, how he wishes Bones were here with him.

 

Booth fiddles with the poker chip in his pocket while he's sitting in front of Dr. Bryar's desk waiting for her to finish going through his test results. He's just been through another exhausting round of tests, but none of them were half as nerve-wracking as this part – all he can do now is to wait for her to tell him what's up with him, and there'll be no Bones to translate, or just to reassure him with her calm, confident presence. He wanted to do this alone, wanted to prove to her and to himself that he's well enough not to need her holding his hand any more, but while that made sense before, it seems like a stupid, empty gesture now because he knows he'd feel a whole lot better if she were here with him.

 

Then again, he could hardly have asked her to come with him after he accused her of considering him a charity case.

 

Booth grits his teeth and reminds himself to remain focused on the present. There's a small crease between Dr. Bryar's eyebrows while she studies his results, but maybe that's her usual expression when she's concentrating on something – it's not like he knows her well enough to tell, no matter what kind of vague memories still keep hanging around at the back of his brain.

 

"Very impressive." Dr. Bryar actually smiles a little when she delivers her verdict, and Booth feels like a heavy weight has been lifted from his chest. "Congratulations, Mr. Booth – your scans are clear, and your test results show a remarkable rate of recovery considering the duration of your coma. Then again, that's probably not surprising given the regimen Dr. Brennan organized for you."

 

Booth can't quite tell whether she's being sarcastic or not – he imagines that Dr. Bryar wasn't too happy with Bones breathing down her neck the whole time, but he's well aware that he wouldn't be where he is right now if it hadn't been for Bones' refusal to let anything or anyone stand in her way when it came to making sure he would get better.

 

_Do you really expect me to believe that doesn't tell you anything?_

 

Shushing Gordon Gordon's voice in his mind, Booth does his best to concentrate on what Dr. Bryar is saying, since this time he can't rely on Bones to explain everything to him afterwards.

 

"Does that mean I can go back to work? Desk duty, at least?"

 

Dr. Bryar checks something in his file and then shrugs. "I don't see why not if you feel up to it. There seem to be no lingering neurological problems, so I'm going to take you off most of your medication –"

 

"So I'm finally allowed to drive again too?" That's more than Booth has been hoping for, and it's not like he has a car at the moment, but it still feels like another important milestone.

 

"Give it another day to get the remaining drugs out of your system, then it should be safe, yes. I'd recommend taking it easy for a while, though – you can't simply go back to normal after the ordeal your body and your mind have been through, so give yourself time to readjust." 

 

Booth relaxes a little; even with the disclaimer, this is better news than he would have expected. He knows he probably shouldn't push his luck, but he still has to ask. "What about shooting a gun?"

 

The doctor gives him a stern look. "You know you shouldn't even be thinking about field duty for another couple of months at least, right?"

 

"That's not what I meant," Booth hastens to assure her. "It's just – I don't want to be completely out of practice once I _am_ ready to go back into the field."

 

Dr. Bryar still doesn't seem too happy with him, but it isn't lost on Booth that she doesn't challenge his assumption that he will be fit for field duty again at some point. "I'd still give it another couple of weeks before hitting the shooting range if I were you. Going back to work will be strenuous enough in the beginning, so you shouldn't push yourself too hard too fast. Then again, Dr. Brennan will probably make sure of that anyway."

 

She's smiling again now, and it's all Booth can do not to wince from the sting of something that could be guilt, shame, or maybe even longing. He tries not to dwell on it, though; he has just gotten past another obstacle on his way back to normalcy, so he needs to stay focused on moving forward to make sure he doesn't trip up again.

 

+++

 

"Booth, is everything okay?"

 

Booth fleetingly wonders if she'll ever stop sounding slightly panicked when he calls her – but then, it's not like he has done it all that often since he left her apartment, so she probably still assumes something is wrong when she sees his caller ID on her cell. Then again, is he really complaining about the fact that she still worries about him?

 

"Hello to you too, Bones." He hopes that the flippant tone manages to mask his nervousness; it has taken him a full hour since his return from the hospital to work up the nerve to make this call. "Yeah, everything's fine – great, even. Listen, I went to see Dr. Bryar for a check-up today, and…"

 

"But your next check-up wasn't scheduled until late January, was it?" Bones doesn't sound any calmer, on the contrary. "Why did you go see her earlier than that? Are you having – "

 

 _Way to go about this ass backwards, Seeley_. "Bones, I'm fine, okay? I went earlier because… because I've been doing a lot better lately, and I figured I might be ready to go back to work."

 

"Oh." She seems surprised, and there's a tiny pause before she asks, "What did Dr. Bryar say?"

 

"Well, she ran a gazillion tests, but then she said I'm okay to go back to work as long as I stick to desk duty for the time being."

 

There's a strange sound on the other end of the line; Booth can't quite figure it out, but maybe it was just Bones taking a deep breath. "That is indeed great news, Booth – congratulations."

 

Booth cringes at the formal tone, but he reminds himself not to let it deter him. He remembers the look she gave him after Parker's game, and he tries with all his might to hold on to the belief that she's not freezing him out now, that she's merely taking her cues from him because she's just as uncertain as he is how they're supposedto behave around each other.

 

_You'd better be right about this, Gordon Gordon._

 

"Thanks, Bones." It sounds feeble to his own ears, so he adds, "I mean – for everything. I – if it hadn't been for you…"

 

"It's fine," she interrupts his stammering before he can finish the sentence. "You don't have to thank me."

 

 _Damn_. It's all coming out wrong again – she probably thinks he felt obligated to call her, and it only occurs to him now that the fact he went in for a check-up without telling her first must look like another snub to her.

 

"No, Bones, you don't get it. You see – sitting in that waiting room without you reminded me how much it meant to me that you were always with me when I needed you, and… and I'm sorry I never told you that before."

 

His heart is in his throat while he waits for her reply; he has said more than he probably should have, but he can't keep playing it safe if he ever wants to get through to her again.

 

She's silent for a long time; at long last, she says softly, "You're welcome."

 

Booth is still trying to come up with an answer to that when she adds, "I hope that… that you know I would have come with you today too."

 

_The center will hold._

 

"I know." It comes out a little hoarse; Booth finds he has suddenly trouble breathing. After everything that went down between them, she's still willing to be the first to lower her defenses, to reach out across the rift between them, and suddenly the thought of doing the same is no longer quite so daunting.

 

"Bones, what I said to you – you know, when we were fighting…" He can't bring himself to repeat his barb about being her 'charity project', but he's sure she gets what he's talking about. "I said some things that – that I didn't mean, and that I wish I could take back, and… and I'm sorry."

 

It takes her even longer than before to react to that, and Booth's hands are beginning to shake with nerves because he knows how much depends on her answer. When she finally speaks, the choked sound of her voice tells him he's not the only one struggling for composure.

 

"It's okay, Booth, really – and I'm so happy that you're getting better."

 

They're both quiet for a while after that, but for once the silence is neither awkward nor tense; Booth is so relieved that he has to sit down because his knees are threatening to give out under him, and he can't help thinking that she's in a similar state.

 

_You're a man who has always trusted his instincts, so what are they telling you now?_

 

"So what did Dr. Bryar say? I mean, apart from declaring you fit for desk duty?" From the sound of it, Bones is trying to steer the conversation back towards less loaded topics, and Booth is grateful for it because he figures they've reached the limit of what they can deal with during a single phone call.

 

"She took me off all those pills, so I'm finally allowed to drive again."

 

"That's great!" She sounds genuinely excited, and Booth wonders if she has forgotten the catch or just chooses to ignore it. "I know how important driving is to you."

 

"It's not like I have a car at the moment, Bones," Booth reminds her gently, and then winces when he realizes that she might mistake the statement for a veiled plea. He tries to think of a way to make it clear that he didn't mean to ask her for…

 

…wait.

 

_You're convinced she'll consider you weak if you accept her help, while Dr. Brennan feels like you're rejecting her if you refuse to let her help you, or if you feel humiliated by the fact that she's trying to help you in the first place._

 

Didn't she try to tell him just a few moments earlier that in spite of the things he said to her, she's still willing to help him if he lets her? Isn't this the perfect opportunity to prove to her that he really meant his apology?

 

His pride rebels against the idea, but for once Booth ruthlessly pushes back against it. Perhaps, if –

 

"Oh." Bones sounds taken aback, as if the idea hadn't occurred to her; she seems about to say something, but then hesitates at the last moment, and she sounds like she's weighing every word when she finally suggests, "Maybe – maybe you could… rent one?"

 

Booth grits his teeth at the new, even hotter flash of embarrassment that her words have unwittingly caused. _Yes, Bones, I could do that, and I could even buy one thanks to the big-ass check that you sent my way, the one you don't even know I got because I still can't bring myself to mention to you – or maybe I could grow a set and just ask the goddamn question that you're obviously hoping I'll ask._

 

"Or maybe I could ask a friend who has a car to go on a road trip with me this weekend?"

 

He can't tell whether the sound Bones makes is a suppressed sob or an attempt not to laugh. "Yes, you could definitely do that."

 

_The center holds._

 

Focusing on nothing but that thought, Booth closes his eyes, tries to picture her smiling at him from the passenger seat, and asks, "Hey, Bones, got any plans for Saturday?"

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Booth hopes it's not too obvious how nervous he is when Bones pulls over in front of his building. He has been standing at the curb for a while because he isn't sure about the protocol – Bones only told him she'd pick him up at ten o'clock, and he figured he should save her the hassle of having to find a parking spot just to get him. Besides, he doesn't know how she feels about going anywhere near his apartment, so it seemed better not to presume anything.

 

Bones doesn't get out of her car; she just waves and gestures for him to get into the passenger seat.

 

"Have you been waiting long? You look like you're cold."

 

"Nah, just a minute or two." It's a blatant lie – he has been freezing his ass off in the clear, bitterly cold winter morning for a quarter of an hour because he didn't want to take any chances in case she was early, but of course he isn't going to tell her that. "Besides, I've got coffee."

 

Bones smiles when he holds up the thermos he brought. "Of course you do."

 

"Hey, there's plenty enough for two if you want some." Booth keeps his tone light; it's the first time they've been alone together since that ill-fated morning after the trial, so he figures it's best to tread carefully.

 

"Thank you." She doesn't look at him because she's busy getting back into the flow of traffic. "If it's okay with you, I'll drive until we're outside the city; we can switch then." When Booth doesn't answer right away, she adds, "I thought, since you haven't been behind the wheel for so long, you might be more comfortable…"

 

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." The insinuation that he might not be able to handle DC traffic right away stings a little, but Booth tries not to show it because he knows she has a point. He has been driving since his early teens, but there's no telling what kind of impact his health issues have had on him in that regard, and even though Dr. Bryar considered it safe, she also admonished him to take it easy. He doesn't like it, but he has learned the hard way that there are things you can't rush.

 

Speaking of not liking…

 

Booth wiggles out of his coat (Bones has turned up the heating, and the warmth is quickly driving the lingering chill out of his aching joints) and then reaches for the seatbelt to buckle himself in. He tries not to make a big show of it, but he doesn't miss the quick sidelong glance she gives him, and the way her shoulders relax a little bit tells him she gets what he's trying to tell her.

 

He's about to ask her how things are at the Jeffersonian because it seems like a safe topic to start a conversation, but she beats him to it by asking how Parker is doing. It gives them something to talk about while they make their way out of the city, and Booth realizes he isn't the only one who's trying to play it safe. There are a lot of questions he would like to ask her, but – what was he just thinking about things you can't rush?

 

Still, he would really like to know how she's been during the past weeks, and asking about her work seems like a good way to ease into that. As soon as they're done discussing Parker's current science project, he tries again.

 

"So, how's it going at the lab?"

 

Bones keeps her eyes on the road. "Busy, mostly – we have some interesting projects that we've been forced to neglect because… because other things took priority, but we're making a lot of progress now."

 

 _Other things took priority_. Booth suppresses a wince. She stopped herself just in time before mentioning the preparations for the Gravedigger trial outright – a trial that she tried to hide from him because she believed he couldn't handle it. It still rankles him, and the knowledge that his behavior during and after the trial proved her right isn't helping either.

 

For a second, he considers dropping all pretense and asking her never to go behind his back again in an attempt to protect him, but he quickly dismisses the thought when he realizes that she'll probably demand the same kind of promise from him in return. That ship sailed a long time ago – ever since he threatened a gang leader who had put a hit out on her, since he jeopardized his career by hiding a piece of evidence that incriminated her in a murder case.

 

Besides, he isn't going to waste this chance on rehashing past arguments. "So… it sounds like you've been working a lot."

 

If he knows her at all, she buried herself in her work until Angela bodily dragged her out of the lab – or not, considering what happened between these two in the wake of his illness. Would Hodgins or Cam step in before she worked herself to death, or would they figure it was her way of coping that they shouldn't take away from her?

 

He has been wondering how she's been doing since their big fight, but now he's forcibly reminded how alone she must already have felt during the months before. His coma, his memory issues, the Gravedigger trial – he always knew she's good at compartmentalizing, but it seems he still underestimated her ability to roll with the punches and keep going.

 

Her face tightens; it looks like his remark wasn't nearly as subtle as he hoped. "Have you been talking to Angela?"

 

"Not since I went to the lab with you." Booth hesitates for a second, but then decides that the opening is too perfect to miss it. "Besides, it's not like she could tell me much these days, is it?"

 

"Booth…" To his surprise, her tone is neither angry nor defensive; if anything, she sounds tired. "I really don't want to discuss this issue again."

 

"That's not what I meant." Booth tries very hard to keep his voice even. "Look, Bones, I get that you're mad at her, but – the two of you have been friends for so long, and I hate that I was the one who ruined that for you."

 

She seems taken aback for a moment, but then she shakes her head. "This isn't your fault, Booth. Besides, I'm not – I'm not mad at Angela, it's just that…" She takes the time to choose her words with great care, as if it were vitally important to make him understand. "At a time when I was counting on her support, she decided to deny me that and push her own agenda instead. I know she thought she was doing what was best for me, but I'm not a child, Booth – _I_ need to be the person who decides what is most important to me, and I would have expected Angela to respect my priorities. She told me she couldn't do that, and I understood her reasoning, but – I find that I'm no longer able to trust her like I used to because I can never be certain that she'll stand by me when I need her most."

 

"Have you considered" – Booth, too, weighs his words carefully; they're definitely on thin ice now – "that sometimes, being a friend means doing something for the person you're friends with even if they don't like it at the time?"

 

"I'm aware of that." To his relief, she doesn't sound like the reminder upsets her. "I've done it myself, and so have you, but – this is different." She gives him a quick, sidelong glance before turning her attention back to the road. "Angela's approach to most things in life is diametrically opposed to mine, but we were able to become and remain friends because we tried to respect each other's choices even if we didn't agree with them. Therefore, her refusal to do that at a time when I had made it perfectly clear that the issue at hand was of utmost importance to me..."

 

Booth can't help remembering Angela's words when he went to talk to her at the lab, when she told him that she urged Bones to let him die because she couldn't watch _her_ suffer any more. He knows he shouldn't focus on it right now, but he can't get over the realization that what Bones calls _priorities_ is the fact that his life mattered more to her than her own pain, that she can't forgive Angela because Angela wouldn't accept that.

 

A lioness defending her cubs has nothing on Bren when it comes to you.

 

"I get it, Bones." He can only hope that he really does, that he didn't misunderstand what she just told him.

 

She gives him another quick look, this time one of obvious surprise. "You do?"

 

"Yeah, I think so." He'd love to tell her that he would have done the same if their roles had been reversed, that he'd never trust anyone again who opposed him in a fight for _her_ life, but he isn't sure if she'll want to hear it at this point. So he chooses a safer example, one that will hopefully still make her understand what he's trying to say. "I mean, if – if, God forbid, Parker had been in that situation, and somebody had told me I should stop fighting for his life because it was taking too much out of me… that's not something you forgive."

 

Bones exhales sharply, and then nods. "This isn't about being angry, or holding grudges. I just – it is my understanding of friendship that you should respect your friend's decisions once they've made clear what they want, even if it's not what _you_ want at the time."

 

I understand, and I'll respect your wishes from now on.

 

Booth feels his breath catch in his throat when he recalls what she told him, right at the end of that terrible fight, after he'd accused her of considering him a charity case. He hadn't thought anything of it back then (hell, he hadn't really been thinking past anything but his anger and frustration at the time) because it had sounded like the usual passive-aggressive shit that people fling at each other in such a situation, but now that he looks at the whole thing with a clearer head, he's forced to remember that Bones doesn't do passive-aggressive in a fight. She does plain aggressive amazingly well, but whatever beef she has with you, she'll be right in your face if she chooses to confront you about it.

 

Did she actually mean that? Did she honestly believe that she was doing what he wanted her to do when she told him to get out of her apartment? The question brings back another memory, of their conversation on the phone just two days ago, when she obviously wanted to offer her help with the driving issue but waited until he asked for it instead.

 

But if she really took his words at face value – all of them, not just on that one occasion…

 

You should respect your friend's decisions once they've made clear what they want, even if it's not what you want at the time.

 

You always emphasized that it was all we were – that there were people you couldn't sleep with, and lines that we couldn't cross, and I understood perfectly well what you meant by that.

 

Jesus Christ, was Gordon Gordon right after all?

 

Booth is so caught up in his thoughts that it takes him a while to remember that Bones is still waiting for an answer. God, what is he supposed to tell her now?

 

"I guess," he begins haltingly, praying for the right words, "but I think… you need to be sure that it's what they really want, not just what they're saying because they're angry, or hurt, or… or afraid."

 

Bones ponders that for a while. Booth watches her out of the corner of his eye and tries to gauge her reaction, but her expression doesn't tell him what she's thinking. When she finally speaks, there's a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "What could be so frightening that it would make a person lie to their friend about what they really want?"

 

Booth keeps his eyes on the road ahead of them; he can't look at her right now. "They could be afraid of ruining what they have if they admit the truth."

 

He braces himself for her reaction, but Bones doesn't answer. Her expression is set into what Angela once called her 'thinky face', and it doesn't give away her feelings about the topic she's mulling over. Booth keeps quiet; he knows from experience that sometimes you need to look at an idea from all angles, to consider every possible aspect of a concept before you can be certain how you feel about it.

 

She startles him out of his own musings when she finally speaks again. "Would this be a good time to swap places?"

 

"What?" If that question contains some kind of veiled message, he definitely doesn't get it.

 

Bones points at a road sign ahead of them. "There's a gas station half a mile from here; we're well clear of the city now, so we could stop there to switch seats. Unless you've changed your mind about wanting to drive…?"

 

"No, of course not." Booth isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved; looks like they're done with the serious discussions for the moment. "That's what we're here for, isn't it?"

 

As soon as the words are out, he wishes he could take them back, but they don't seem to bother her. "Yes, of course it is."

 

+++

 

"How does it feel?"

 

Booth startles at the unexpected question; they've both been silent for a long while, ever since he got behind the wheel. He has been so focused on the task at hand that he momentarily forgot the conversation that Bones cut short when she stopped the car to switch seats with him, but now the cryptic question brings it all back.

 

"What do you mean?" He keeps his eyes on the road – for safety reasons, not because he's trying to avoid eye contact.

 

 _Keep telling yourself that_ , his sneering inner voice pipes up, but Booth manages to shush it.

 

"Driving, of course." Bones sounds a little bewildered, as if she couldn't figure out how he could possibly not have understood the question. "You don't seem to have any problems with it, but your posture is a little tense, so I was wondering…"

 

"It feels okay." Booth takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax his shoulders and to loosen his death grip on the steering wheel. She's right, of course – the pain radiating from his neck is going to develop into a full-blown tension headache if he doesn't ease up a little, but he was concentrating so hard that he barely noticed how his muscles were starting to cramp. "Not quite like it used to yet, but it's coming back."

 

Relief is finally setting in, and it's only now that he can admit to himself how nervous he was about this. He didn't let himself consider the possibility that the lingering effects of his coma went deeper than he had assumed, that he might find out the hard way that some everyday tasks were still – maybe forever – too complex for him to handle, but the fear was always at the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to stay positive. Now the realization that he can _do_ this, that he's taking another step on the way back to his old life, leaves him feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

 

He doesn't tell her any of that, of course, but this is Bones, who notices every detail about the way a person carries themselves, and who definitely doesn't miss the tension draining out of his back and arms as he sinks a little lower into his seat.

 

"I'm glad." It's all she says, but it's enough – and it isn't lost on him that she, too, relaxes as she turns her head and goes back to watching the wintry Virginia countryside. It hasn't snowed for a couple of days, so the road is mostly clear, and Booth feels a little more of the old, familiar ease return with every passing mile. The silence between them isn't uncomfortable, but he's still racking his brain for something to say, something that will make her understand how important this is to him, and that he appreciates her part in it.

 

"You know, after being a passenger for so long, it's really nice to be the one behind the wheel again."

 

It's only after the words are out that he realizes how much can be read into them, but he pushes through the sudden attack of nerves because it's the truth, after all, and Bones of all people should be able to understand.

 

"I imagine it is." She doesn't let on if she got the double meaning, and Booth is forcibly reminded of something Gordon Gordon told him a long while ago.

 

_You've both become fiercely independent and self-reliant out of necessity – not only because there was nobody to take the burden off your shoulders, but also because deep down you were both convinced that nobody would even bother to try._

 

Yet here she is, letting him drive her car, giving him the chance to take charge of his own life again. He can't help thinking of all those discussions they had about her driving his SUV, and he silently promises her that he'll remember this day the next time the issue comes up between them.

 

If they ever are in a position to argue about it again, of course – because he has no idea if she's even still willing to work with him. God, why did he ever tell her they weren't partners any more?

 

Before he can think of a way to bring up the topic, Bones once more turns her attention to practical matters. "Aren't you getting hungry? It's past noon, so we should probably stop for lunch somewhere."

 

Booth doesn't really feel like eating, but he _does_ like the idea of having lunch with her again. There was a time when their meals at the diner were the highlights of his days, and even though that probably says a lot about the general state of his pre-coma life, he can't help missing those days when, lines and lies notwithstanding, things were so much easier between them.

 

+++

 

There's a small diner right by the roadside in the next town, and Booth considers it another tiny personal victory that he has no trouble getting into a rather cramped parking space between two heaps of dirty snow. He can tell that Bones notices, although he's glad that she doesn't say anything and spares him the necessity of deflecting the remark with a joke about her toy-sized car. Regaining basic everyday skills is important, but getting praise for it would make him feel like a toddler who's being potty-trained.

 

Booth half expects her to berate him when he orders a hamburger and fries, but she just chooses her usual salad without comment. As much as he disliked most of the super-healthy stuff she made him eat while he was staying with her, right now he wouldn't mind another lecture on the evils of saturated fat and processed meat, if only because it would feel like another familiar piece of his old life. With that thought in mind, he immediately pushes the plate of fries towards her when the waitress brings their food, and the smile that lights up her face in return feels like the first ray of sunlight that peeks through the clouds at the end of a rainy day.

 

She doesn't start eating, though; instead, she places her salad right next to the plate of fries. "If I'm sharing your fries, you're sharing my salad. It's only fair, after all."

 

Booth makes a face, but it's mostly for show. Those months at her place have gotten him more or less used to green stuff being a part of every meal, and as long as she doesn't try to get between him and his hamburger, a few mouthfuls of salad won't kill him. In return, Bones happily munches away on his fries, and Booth tries not to think of all the things they still need to discuss and resolve – right now, he just wants to enjoy a moment he wasn't sure he'd ever get with her again.

 

The waitress nods approvingly when she comes to take their empty plates away and asks them if they want anything for dessert. Bones immediately shakes her head, but Booth sees his chance to hold on to the moment a little longer.

 

"Come on, Bones – you only had a few green leaves and a handful of fries!"

 

"I'm full, Booth!" she protests, but the laughter in her voice reassures him that it's safe to keep badgering her. "Only because your stomach is a bottomless pit –"

 

"Hey!" He does his best to sound affronted, but God, does it feel good to bicker with her again. "Instead of calling me a glutton, you could just share my dessert with me and save me from myself."

 

She deliberates for a moment, and then nods. "I consider that an acceptable compromise."

 

Booth revels in the familiar satisfaction that those small victories always used to bring – until the waitress cheerfully informs them that their carrot cake is the best in town, and that they've also got homemade apple pie fresh from the oven.

 

Bones' eyes light up at the mention of carrot cake, but she stiffens as soon as the waitress mentions the pie. Booth feels his insides turn to ice; it may be a ridiculously trivial matter, but it takes him right back to the moment she confronted him about his journal and accused him of replacing the person she is with an embodiment of his own wishes and desires. Christ, when did everything between them become such a maze of pitfalls and hidden traps?

 

Maybe it's not too late for some damage control. "Hey, if you want the carrot cake –"

 

"You hate carrot cake, Booth." He should have known she wouldn't let him get away with it. "You always say that dessert should be the reward you get for eating your vegetables, not an excuse to sneak more vegetables into the meal. It's okay," she adds when she notices his expression, and he relaxes a little at the realization that she, too, is trying to get them past this cliff. "We don't have to share, you can just order – "

 

"Did I mention that our cheesecake is fantastic?" the waitress cuts in. "Maybe you'd like to try that instead?"

 

Bones' gaze meets Booth's across the table, and the look in her eyes is so much like the one she's probably seeing in his own right now that he feels the nervous knot in his stomach beginning to unravel.

 

"Sounds good to me."

 

"That would be fine, yes."

 

The waitress is back in record time (probably to make sure they don't change their minds while they're waiting) with a slice of cake and two forks. They start eating in silence; the cake is nice, but Booth barely tastes it because he's too busy trying to think of a way to ease the sudden tension between them.

 

"Not bad, eh?" He was angling for nonchalance, but it comes out sounding a little too flippant for his liking.

 

She gives him a calm, scrutinizing look that makes him feel like a skeleton on her table. "You would have chosen pie."

 

Booth shrugs. "And you would have chosen the carrot cake, but this is good too, isn't it? And we get to share."

 

"That's true." Bones breaks eye contact to take another bite; only when she's done chewing does she look at him again. "I like sharing with you."

 

Her tone is even, and her expression doesn't give away what she's thinking, but Booth finds that right now it doesn't matter.

 

_The center will hold._

 

"Yeah, Bones, so do I."

 

+++

 

Booth spends most of the drive back trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic of their partnership. Of all the matters they need to resolve, this is probably the most pressing one now that he's been cleared for work – because even though he'll be pushing a pencil for the next couple of months, he wants to know for certain that he'll still have a partner to come back to once he's fit for field work again.

 

The thought of field work brings up a related issue, and maybe this, too, is a way to prove to her that he still wants her by his side. He still isn't comfortable with the idea of outright asking for her support, but he hasn't forgotten his realization from earlier today – and as much as she seemed to appreciate the reassurance that he didn't mean the things he said to her during their last fight, he knows that the scientist in her will require proof before she truly accepts his claim.

 

"Bones, can I ask you something?"

 

"About what?" She sounds calm, but there's a hint of uncertainty in her tone that reminds him he isn't the only one who's nervous about a lot of things.

 

"No, I mean… can I ask you a favor?" He reminds himself not to add any kind of qualifier – no apology, no token acknowledgement of the things she has already done for him, no self-deprecating joke. 

 

"You know you can." She doesn't hesitate with her answer, and Booth feels momentarily humbled by her conviction that he won't have stopped counting on her.

 

"I do." _Or at least I'll try_ , he silently adds. "Look, the thing is – Dr. Bryar said that in a few weeks, it will be okay for me to start practicing at the shooting range again." It's not quite how Dr. Bryar worded it, but Booth figures it doesn't matter right now. "I… I guess I'm a little nervous about it."

 

The admission makes him cringe, even though he knows this isn't the time to put up a tough front. For a second, the memory of a moment at the hospital flashes through his mind – that moment _before_ the coma, when the implications of his diagnosis were beginning to sink in, and he asked her to come to the operating room with him because knew the only way he was going to get through this was to have her with him every step of the way. For some reason, the memory makes it easier.

 

"So I wanted to ask – will you come with me? To the shooting range?"

 

Bones is silent for a long while. Booth keeps his eyes on the road, figuring this is one of her 'time and space' moments. He isn't sure why this, of all things, seems to be such a difficult decision for her, but he isn't going to push.

 

When she finally speaks, her answer isn't at all what he expected. "Because Dr. Wyatt told you?"

 

"What?" Booth has no idea what she's talking about – he's absolutely certain that he and Gordon Gordon never discussed the matter of his marksmanship during their sessions, and even if they had, Bones wouldn't even know about it because…

 

That's when it hits him. Gordon Gordon and the issue of his marksmanship – she's talking about the memory she read in his coma book, of that talk with Gordon Gordon about taking Bones to the shooting range with him because… he needed to grow a set? That doesn't make sense, but the memory is fuzzy like most of his coma memories are these days. Something about Bones counting on him for protection?

 

_"Bones doesn't need me."_

_"No, she probably doesn't. You matter to her, though, wouldn't you say?"_

 

"No, that's not it, Bones." He risks a quick glance in her direction, and he's glad to find that she doesn't refuse to meet his eyes. "It's just… this is really important if I ever want to be more than a desk jockey again, and I would feel a lot better knowing that you'll be with me."

 

This time, it doesn't take her long to answer. "Then I'll come – if you don't mind me bringing my own gun, because I could definitely use some practice as well."

 

"As long as it's not that cannon you shot me with." It's suddenly easy to smile at her, and her answering grin leaves him almost giddy with relief.

 

"No, I have a different one now. Besides, a little competition will probably be very helpful for you."

 

Booth remembers the dartboard, and how grateful he was that she never let him have a victory he hadn't earned. "Is that a challenge, Dr. Brennan?"

 

"Of course it is, Agent Booth," she deadpans, even though her voice is bubbling with suppressed laughter. How long has it been since he has last heard her laugh?

 

"Thanks, Bones." He does his best to put as much feeling as possible into the two words. "I mean, not for the challenge, but – you know."

 

"You're welcome." Her tone is calm, gentle even, and it's another moment he wants to hold on to because he wasn't sure he'd ever hear her speak to him like that again.

 

Eager to keep the conversation going, Booth says the first thing that comes to his mind. "You know, it's kinda nice to hear someone call me 'Agent Booth' again. I mean, it's not a big thing, but aside from Gordon Gordon it has been 'Mr. Booth this', 'Mr. Booth that' for months now, and… it always makes me feel like they're really talking to my father when people address me like that."

 

"That shouldn't be an issue any longer now that you're about to return to work. Have you spoken with Director Hacker yet?"

 

 _Damn_. "Uh – not yet."

 

Bones seems taken aback. "I admit that I would have expected you to inform him as soon as you were cleared for work. Are you not planning to go back right away after all?"

 

Booth curses the blush he can feel creeping up his cheeks. She's right, but he can't very well tell her that he completely forgot to call Hacker's office because he was too busy fretting about the upcoming road trip with her. "Yeah, of course I am. I'll call him first thing on Monday."

 

She merely nods and doesn't answer, leaving him to wonder if there's something he missed.

 

+++

 

Booth makes it through DC traffic without incident, and even though he's pretty tired when he pulls over in front of his building, he's deeply relieved that he can cross the state of his driving skills off the list of things he needs to worry about. Bones gets out of the car when he does; she doesn't offer to come up with him, and Booth doesn't ask her. In many ways, this day has been a lot better than he would have dared to hope, and he doesn't want to ruin it now by pushing his luck.

 

"Thanks for today, Bones – I really appreciate it." He hopes he said enough without saying too much, and the way she smiles at him reassures him that he got it right.

 

"You're welcome, and… I'm glad it went well."

 

He has no idea if she's talking about his driving or about everything else, and suddenly the need to give her some indication of what this day really meant for him becomes overwhelming. He's itching to touch her, to create some kind of tangible connection between them even if it's just for a fleeting moment, but he has no idea how to initiate anything that doesn't give her the wrong impression.

 

Then an idea strikes him, and he raises his hand with a grin. "Yeah, me too."

 

Her first reaction is a blank stare, but then a smile spreads across her face as she lifts her own hand and high-fives him with so much enthusiasm that it leaves him with a smarting palm. It takes him right back to that case with the murdered priest, when they asked Gordon Gordon to "fix" them after Bones had refused to run off to the Caribbean with Sully – he hasn't revisited the memory in years, but now he feels like he's back at the diner, with Bones beaming at him from across the table and his body limp with relief that they dodged a bullet which might have destroyed everything they had together.

 

He stands at the curb and follows her with his eyes as she drives off, and he can't help remembering how Gordon Gordon claimed back then that Booth wasn't the reason for Bones' decision not to leave with Sully. It doesn't really fit in with everything that came up during their recent sessions, does it? 

 

Booth stares after Bones' car until he can no longer see it in the distance and once more recalls that giddy high five after they both felt comfortable they "were back". They're not back yet this time, but today has given him hope that they're getting there.

 

+

 

\+ + +

 

+

 

Hacker looks up from the medical report and gives Booth a critical once-over. There's a chance Booth is just imagining it, of course – he has been feeling antsy since he had to put on a suit that still doesn't quite fit earlier today, and walking through the hallways of the Hoover Building for the first time in seven months left him with a weird mix of conflicting emotions. There's a pang that almost feels like homesickness, and yet he also feels strangely out of place.

 

"You look well."

 

Hacker sounds pretty neutral, and Booth does his best to reply in kind. "I'm well enough, Sir. I know I'm not fit to go into the field again yet, but as you can see I'm cleared for work, so I'm ready to come back and do my job."

 

"I'm glad to hear it, Agent Booth. You know you'll need full physical and psychological clearance before I can send you back into the field, but there's plenty of office work to keep you busy in the meantime." Hacker smiles thinly, and Booth has to suppress a sudden flash of antipathy. He used to like Hacker well enough (compared to the late, unlamented Deputy Director Kirby, Hacker is a definite step up in the boss department), but that self-satisfied grin gets right past his rational mind to the part of Booth's brain that still refuses to let go of the idea that Hacker once tried rather persistently to get into Bones' pants. Booth knows that it never happened (has Bones even met Hacker in person?), that it's just another remnant of the coma reality that he needs to let go, but right now the knowledge doesn't help much.

 

"We haven't refilled your position – Agent Furst has temporarily taken over some of your responsibilities, but he has been asking for a transfer to Narcotics for a while now, so there'll be more than enough for you to do. You might have to do a bit of actual supervising for a change, _Supervisory_ Special Agent Booth – it _does_ say that on your badge, doesn't it?" Hacker's smile turns into a self-satisfied smirk, and Booth has to remind himself that this is actually good news because getting his old position back is more than he hoped for. He expected months of paper-pushing at some desk in the bullpen, and the prospect of returning to his office right away makes even the idea of administrative duty somewhat bearable.

 

"I can do that, Sir."

 

Hacker's expression turns serious again. "Make no mistake, Agent Booth, I do want you back in the field as soon as your health allows it. Your closure rate is unparalleled, and I would hate to see my best field agent wasting his talents behind a desk for the rest of his career. Besides, I've been forced to accept that you and Dr. Brennan are a package deal, and we _really_ want her to work for us again. The Jeffersonian interns she keeps sending us are doing their jobs, but the next time the press is all over a case that involves human remains, I want to be able to tell them that we have the country's leading expert working for us."

 

 _There's a reason I'm the boss when you're plainly the better FBI agent._ Booth knows that Hacker never actually said that to him, but right now he finds it pretty easy to imagine why his mind would come up with the idea that he would. And yet…

 

_You and Dr. Brennan are a package deal._

 

He knows that Bones stopped working for the Bureau when he got sick – she told him so back at the hospital, and it meant a lot to him at the time that she didn't want another FBI partner, but he's well aware that too much has happened in the meantime. He and Bones have been making a lot of progress lately, but this is an issue they still haven't discussed – the last time the topic of their partnership has come up between them was the day he declared that they weren't partners any more. He has told her that he didn't mean it, and it looks like she accepted his apology, but that still leaves him none the wiser as far as their professional future is concerned.

 

Hacker has no way of knowing any of that, of course, so he keeps prattling on. "I expect you to bring her back into the fold, because I've gotten nowhere with her so far. I was really hoping she'd be more amenable to the idea of working with another agent for the time being once the Gravedigger trial was out of the way, but I couldn't even get her to meet with me and discuss the issue, she just fobbed me off again over the phone."

 

Booth tenses. "You spoke with Dr. Brennan after Heather Taffet's trial, Sir?"

 

"Not _right_ after, of course – I figured even the famed Ice Queen would need a little time to wind down afterwards, considering that the woman almost killed her. I told Dr. Brennan that she could have her pick among all the agents in the Major Crime department, but she wouldn't hear of it. She informed me again that the only FBI agent she'll ever work with is you, so you'd better get her back now."

 

Booth struggles not to let Hacker notice how important his next question is to him. "Do you still remember when you made that call, Sir?"

 

Hacker shrugs. "Must have been two days after the Taffet trial ended. Why?"

 

Two days after the Gravedigger trial… that was the day _after_ Bones kicked him out of her apartment, just one day after she'd heard him say that he didn't consider them partners any more. Booth feels his breath catch in his throat when the implications begin to dawn on him, when he's forced to realize that Bones refused to turn her back on their partnership even though he had made her think that he had.

 

_The center will hold._

 

He still remembers how eager she was to go into the field four years ago, eager enough to blackmail him into allowing her full participation – but now everything she wanted would have been hers for the taking, and considering how keen Hacker is on getting her back, the agents working with her would have been instructed to make sure that all her wishes and demands were met. Back then, he was the only one who was willing to open that door for her, but now it turns out that she no longer needs him for that.

 

And yet she wouldn't do it without him – not because she couldn't do it on her own, but because she didn't want to.

 

_You matter to her._

 

Booth thinks of all those moments when he couldn't bring himself to ask her if he'll still have a partner when he's finally back in the field, and he can't believe he forgot that you sometimes get an answer from her without even having to ask the question.

 

It takes him a second too long to realize that Hacker is still waiting for a reply. "I, uh – no particular reason, Sir. I'll discuss the matter with Dr. Brennan."

 

Hacker gives him a curious look. "Let me get this straight, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan is an invaluable asset to the FBI, and I don't care what you have to do to convince her as long as the result is that she agrees to partnering with you again. Do I make myself clear?"

 

"I… believe so, Sir." Actually, Booth isn't sure at all if Hacker really means his words the way they came across, because from where he's sitting, it sounded like his boss just informed him that he's well aware of the rumors surrounding Booth's partnership with Bones, and that he doesn't give a damn about the nature of their relationship as long as Bones keeps working for the Bureau.

 

Not that it really matters at the moment what Hacker is trying to tell him, because even if he meant his assurance exactly the way it sounded, it's a bit like getting a pebble out of the way when you still have to climb the mountain.

 

Booth squares his shoulders and reminds himself to focus on the present. "When can I return to work?"

 

Hacker glances at the medical files again. "You'll have to go over the details with Human Resources, and I want you to have a chat with one of our shrinks before you officially come back. Let's see… it's the second week of December already, so I suggest you wait until after Christmas and get started at the beginning of January. It will save us all a lot of bureaucratic hassle, and…" He falls silent when he notices Booth's expression. "Agent Booth, I'm aware that you hate shrinks, but you know perfectly well that a preliminary evaluation is necessary given the nature of your illness. The full psych exam can wait until you're ready to go back into the field, but you're _not_ getting out of this."

 

Booth suppresses a sigh. "I'll deal with it, Sir. I suppose I'll be talking to Dr. Sweets?"

 

Hacker raises his eyebrows. "Dr. Sweets is in Baltimore now, didn't you know? No, you obviously didn't," he adds at Booth's surprised look. "He requested a transfer several months ago – wouldn't give me a clear answer when I asked him why he wanted to leave the Hoover, but from what he said, he feels that the closeness to his co-workers that he has developed over the last two years has begun to cloud his professional judgment."

 

Two years. Booth knows that Sweets has been working with him and Bones for about that long, and it almost _feels_ right again at this point too, but the rest of the news comes totally out of the blue. Yes, Bones is probably still mad at Sweets, but the kid can't possibly be that afraid of her, can he? Then Hacker's words really begin to sink in, and Booth remembers his talk with Sweets at the hospital right after he woke up, and how shaken Sweets seemed by the fact that his advice could have cost Booth his life if Bones had listened to him.

 

A blurry image of Sweets watching them both through narrowed eyes flashes through his mind, and he vaguely remembers the kid's voice telling him to be a gambler. Booth suppresses the thought with practiced ease; whatever part his subconscious made Sweets play during his coma life, it has no bearing on the present any more. Still, it would have been pretty weird to have Sweets poking around in his brain again, and even though he still kinda likes the kid, he can't help being a little relieved that there'll be no more of that now. There will be other shrinks, of course, but they'll be hardly more than strangers, and perhaps Sweets was right to decide that this was the best course of action.

 

Belatedly, Booth remembers that he's still in a meeting with his boss. "So you approved the transfer?"

 

Hacker shrugs. "The good doctor seemed pretty eager to get away, and someone as young and inexperienced as him isn't that hard to replace, no matter how many fancy degrees he has. Besides," Hacker's tone turns casual, "water cooler gossip has it that the real reason why he wanted to put some distance between himself and DC was the fact that his squint girlfriend dumped him after she caught him in a lip-lock with someone else. I don't care about office rumors, of course," – Booth suppresses the urge to roll his eyes – "but I figured I'd rather avoid any problems with the Jeffersonian team just in case."

 

Before Booth can answer, Hacker's phone rings. He listens for just a few seconds and then turns back to Booth.

 

"Agent Burns is waiting outside; he'll bring you up to speed about your department's current cases and everything else you should know before you come back. Best of luck, Agent Booth – and don't forget what I said about Dr. Brennan!"

 

Booth makes a point to shake Hacker's proffered hand with a little more force than necessary before he goes to meet another person from the past.

 

+++

 

Charlie Burns looks so genuinely pleased to see him again that Booth starts feeling a little guilty because it seems so long since he last saw Charlie that he has all but forgotten the guy exists. It's an almost surreal experience to walk into the bullpen after such a lengthy absence; within seconds, Booth is surrounded by a bunch of agents who shake his hand, clap him on the back or ask questions about the state of his health that are just a little on the nosy side. The cynical part of his brain can't help wondering if they've already been informed that he'll be back in the big chair before long, but still, he can't help enjoying the thought that at least some of them might really be glad to have him back.

 

Agent Perotta even hugs him and expresses her hope that he and Dr. Brennan will be back in business soon because Dr. Edison is a very capable anthropologist, but also has a flagpole-sized stick up his ass that brings Perotta a little closer to committing squinticide with every passing day. A few carefully vague questions leave Booth with the information that Bones hasn't even done any consulting for the FBI cases her interns are working during the last couple of months (Booth quickly does the math in his head – she must have stopped around the time he woke up from the coma), and from what Perotta tells him, the whole Jeffersonian crew was mostly focused on the Gravedigger trial these past months anyway.

 

At long last, Charlie manages to drag Booth away from the crowd and into his old office. Agent Furst isn't in, and Booth is surprised to see that the man hardly made any changes to the room – Booth's personal stuff is gone from the desk, of course, but Furst didn't replace Booth's pictures and commendations that line the walls, and even the wretched desk chair that Booth couldn't bring himself to throw out after what Bones did to make sure he got it is still there.

 

Charlie notices Booth's surprised expression and interprets it correctly. "Agent Furst said there was no point making himself at home here since you would be back before long. The stuff from your desk is in that box by the window, and these" – he picks up a stack of manila folders from the desk – "are the case files from a couple of open investigations that are going nowhere at the moment. Director Hacker said to inform you about our current cases, and I figured you'd want to start with the tricky ones. These are copies, so you can take them home with you if you want."

 

Booth feels oddly touched when Charlie hands him the files. Charlie is a good agent – he doesn't look like much, and he's useless in the field, but his efficiency around the office is legendary. If Charlie thinks that these cases could benefit from Booth's input, that's where he's going to start – there may be some grumbling when he starts stepping on people's toes, but since Hacker wants him to supervise, they'll have to either solve their own damn cases or deal with the fact that he'll be breathing down their necks. The idea of playing nanny for a bunch of FBI rookies instead of leading investigations himself isn't terribly appealing, but it's a start.

 

Booth leafs through the first file and immediately comes across a bunch of pictures of a half-decayed corpse. "You had to go straight for the gory ones, eh?"

 

Charlie gives him a half-apologetic shrug. "Our crime lab has processed the evidence, of course, and the ME's reports are in the files too, but – I thought that maybe Dr. Brennan might find some of these interesting."

 

"So what I'm holding here is actually an armful of Bones bait?" Booth isn't sure how he feels about that – yes, he absolutely wants to work with her again, but at the moment it seems like his main function will be to make sure that the FBI can list her among their assets again, and he isn't particularly happy with the idea.

 

Charlie gives him a blank look. "Aren't you guys partners any more? I assumed –"

 

"Nah, it's all right." Booth does his best to sound nonchalant; the last thing he needs is for Charlie to notice that all may not be well between Bones and him. "I'll show them to her. Perhaps she'll come up with something that our medical examiner overlooked." He briefly wonders if Harry Tepper is still working at the FBI morgue – there will be hell to pay if Bones should find out that Harry has messed up _again_.

 

Charlie nods gravely. "I'm looking forward to having Dr. Brennan work with us again."

 

Booth keeps his eyes on the file and hopes that his expression doesn't give anything away. "Yeah, Charlie, so do I."

 

+++

 

When he gets home, Booth dumps the files on the coffee table and then reaches for the phone. He was reluctant to call her from the Hoover where anyone might overhear, but now that he's in the privacy of his living room, he wants to do it right away before he loses his nerve.

 

Bones doesn't pick up when he dials her office number. For a second, Booth is tempted to chicken out and leave a message on her voicemail, but then he reminds himself of what Hacker told him and decides that he's done skirting around the issue of their partnership. She has shown her hand (or maybe he's finally seeing what she has been trying to show him for a long time), and now it's his turn to put his cards on the table.

 

It takes her a long time to answer her cell, and when she does, she sounds a little out of breath. "Booth, I'm sorry, I'm rather busy at the moment. We just received a shipment of Neolithic remains that we're supposed to authenticate, but the containers seem to have been mislabeled – no, Mr. Bray, I'm sure Miss Wick can handle it, so please do your own work instead of impeding hers!"

 

Booth fleetingly remembers the early days of their partnership, when her way of bossing around everyone in her vicinity drove him nuts (and not _just_ because it also turned him on like nobody's business) until he learned to appreciate the almost superhuman level of efficiency that the fear of Dr. Brennan brings out in any team she works with. "Look, Bones, if this is a bad time…"

 

"No, it's okay. I called in all my interns to help, and they should be able manage without me for a short while. Yes, Mr. Fisher, put them here – carefully, those are very fragile! – and move on to the next set… did you meet with Director Hacker today?"

 

There's a lot Booth would like to tell her about the meeting, but in spite of her reassurance, the harried sound of her voice makes it clear how busy she really is, so he sticks to the cliff notes. "Yes, and I'm going back to work next month. Desk job for now, but he wants me back in the field as soon as I'm up to it."

 

"That's good news." Her stressed tone softens for a moment. "I'm very happy for you, Booth – I know how hard you've worked to get to this point."

 

"Thanks, Bones." He briefly considers telling her that he's well aware he wouldn't be where he is today if it hadn't been for her, but it isn't something he wants her to hear over the phone. There's something else he finally _needs_ to address, though, and she unwittingly gave him the perfect opening. "Speaking of work – Charlie gave me the files from a bunch of open cases, and there's some stuff that's more your department than mine –"

 

"Then I suppose I should take a look at them. MR. NIGEL-MURRAY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

 

Booth winces; not only because she almost ruptured his eardrum when she started yelling, but also because the fact that Vincent is still around to be yelled at will probably never feel completely normal to him again. On the other hand – did she really just take it as a given that they'll be working together again right from the start? Can it really be _that_ easy?

 

"Uh, yeah, that would be great – I mean, if you aren't too busy with other stuff…"

 

"I'll make time, but I'm afraid I really have to go now, Booth – I was obviously mistaken in my assumption that a group of hand-picked Jeffersonian interns _could do their jobs without me for five minutes_!"

 

The last part is clearly not directed at him any more, and Booth has to suppress a laugh because he can just imagine the squinterns cowering under the full force of her wrath. "Go easy on the kids, Bones, not everyone is a genius like you."

 

 _And it's not their fault they aren't Zack Addy_ , he almost adds, and even though he stops himself just in time, he can't help wondering at which point Zack became a part of the present again in his mind when just a few months ago, it felt like the whole tragedy surrounding Bones' prodigal protégé happened in another lifetime.

 

"That's no excuse for sloppy work – or would you let Agent Burns get away with a sub-par performance just because he'll never be as good an agent as you are?" Without waiting for an answer, she adds a hasty, "Good bye, Booth, I'll see you!" and then disconnects the call.

 

Booth stares at the receiver for a moment before he hangs up too.

 

"See ya, Bones." He knows she can't hear him any more, but for some reason it feels important to say it out loud.

 

+++

 

After changing out of the suit that still doesn't feel quite right, Booth decides to get the forms he needs to fill out for the HR department out of the way before he does anything else. It's tedious work, but it's also another step closer towards the old, familiar normalcy of his life. He does his best to concentrate and not to let his thoughts wander back to Bones, to the implications of what she said and didn't say, and to the fact that they didn't actually agree on _when_ they were going to see each other again. Does she expect him to just send her the files? Should he offer to drop by at her office sometime so they can go through them together?

 

With all those questions flitting through his mind, it takes him much longer than it should to fill out the damned forms, but at long last everything is finished. The growling of his stomach reminds him that he skipped lunch today, but he doesn't feel like cooking dinner, so he just fixes himself a sandwich and then returns to the stack of paper on his coffee table to finally get started on the case files.

 

It's downright strange to open the first manila folder. It's a piece of his old life that he's only too happy to get back, but it also feels like an attempt to move backwards in time, and a part of him keeps wondering if too much hasn't happened in between for him to ever manage that.

 

Booth tries to push the thought aside. He has come this far, and he isn't going to get cold feet now no matter how weird things may seem in the beginning. The case is complicated and pretty gruesome, but at least it takes his mind off everything else while he tries to familiarize himself with every last detail.

 

He quickly loses track of time; when the sound of his doorbell finally interrupts him, Booth is surprised to realize that it's almost eight o'clock already. He isn't expecting any visitors, so he takes a look through the peephole, and his heart skips a beat when he sees Bones standing in the hallway.

 

"Hi." She smiles when he opens the door, although there's a hint of uncertainty to it. It must have started snowing again, because there are melting flakes on her shoulders, and her hair is glittering with tiny droplets and curling damply around her forehead. "You said there are files for us to go through?"

 

At Booth's stunned silence, she holds up a brown paper bag that gives off a faint aroma of curry. "I brought Thai."

 

+++

 

"You want the last egg roll? Because –"

 

"No, I'm good." Bones' reply comes out a little muffled around the mouthful of fried noodles she's chewing; her eyes are on the ME's report before her. "These remains haven't been released for burial yet, have they?"

 

Booth checks the file and shakes his head. "Not yet, no. Why?"

 

"I'd like to take a closer look at this hairline fracture; it looks… hinky."

 

Booth almost chokes on his last bite of egg roll. "So that's what you want me to tell Agent Perotta when I butt in on her case? Dr. Brennan needs to re-examine the remains because they look hinky?" Maybe it's wrong to be grinning at each other like fools over the photo of a half-decayed corpse, but he didn't fully realize until now how much he has missed these evenings spent with paperwork and Thai food and bickering.

 

He has been so focused on his feelings for her that he never really spared a thought for the loss of the old, easygoing camaraderie between them, but now that they've been digging through case files and bouncing ideas off each other for several hours, he's beginning to feel like he has come home from a long, exhausting journey.

 

This is a part of his life he wasn't sure he'd ever get back, but she's here to go over a bunch of open FBI cases with him because she expects to work them with him as if it were the most natural thing in the world – because they're _partners_ , and this is what they do.

 

Bones is still grinning. "I'll have a more scientific explanation for her, but I know they tend to bore you, so I thought I'd accommodate you."

 

"Dumbing it down for me, eh? I'm not sure how I feel about that." It was supposed to be a joke, but she immediately turns serious.

 

"That's not what I meant."

 

Booth hastily pushes his plate away and turns to face her. "Hey, I know, okay? I was just messing with you."

 

"Are you sure?" She's giving him that look that always makes him feel like a specimen under her microscope. "Because I've noticed that you tend to use this kind of self-deprecating humor to hide the fact that you really aren't feeling entirely confident about the issue in question."

 

Booth's first instinct is to deflect her remark with another joke, but he stops himself just in time. He doesn't like to admit it, but she's right, and it still takes him by surprise how well she's able to read him sometimes.

 

He knows that his mind hasn't been playing tricks on him for a while, and that there's no reason to assume that his brain will no longer be able to keep up with the kind of work he's supposed to do. Besides, Bones is still willing to work with him, and she never settles for second best, so why isn't that enough to erase the nagging apprehension in the pit of his stomach?

 

When he doesn't answer, she cuts straight to the heart of the issue. "Booth, are you worried about returning to work? From what I've seen tonight, I think you should be fine, and Dr. Bryar thinks so too, but if you aren't certain that you're fully recovered –"

 

"No, that's not it." Booth runs a hand through his hair to hide the fact that he can't bring himself to face her right now. "I mean – I know what the doctor said, I feel okay most of the time, and I don't have trouble keeping things straight in my head any more. I want to go back to work, but it's still a little…"

 

"Scary?" she suggests when he hesitates, and Booth manages not to flinch even though he would have preferred it if she'd chosen a different word.

 

"I was going to say 'daunting', but… yeah, I guess that works too."

 

Bones is silent for a long while; she seems deep in thought, and Booth resists the urge to fidget because he wants to give her the time she needs.

 

When she finally speaks, it isn't at all what he expected her to say. "Would you like to hug me?"

 

Booth is completely taken aback for a second, but then a memory surfaces –

 

_I wish you wouldn't keep letting me hug you when I get scared._

_Hey, I get scared and I'll hug you. We'll call it even._

 

She's looking at him, her expression calm and yet strangely vulnerable, and Booth feels like something shifts inside his chest, making it suddenly easier to breathe.

 

In spite of that, his reply comes out a little hoarse. "Yes, Bones, I would."

 

She turns into his arms without hesitation, and Booth holds on to her and reminds himself that this is _real_ , that it's safe to give in to the stunned, slightly dazed feeling of relief that's settling over him at the softness of her hair against his cheek and the warm, steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his.

 

Her arms tighten around him, and this, too, feels like a homecoming to a place he didn't think he'd ever get to see again. The fear, the worry, the uncertainty of the past weeks and months – it's all still there, but there's something else too, something that cuts through the lingering darkness like a bright beam of sunlight. It may be hope, or faith, or maybe even love, but whatever it is, he's seeing it reflected in her eyes when he finally pulls back a little to look at her.

 

_The center holds._

 

An idea is forming at the back of his mind, and even though it's something he'd never have considered just a few days – or maybe even just a few hours – ago, he's suddenly determined to go through with it. He has been wary of listening to his instincts for so long, but this _feels_ right, and maybe it's time to start trusting his feelings again.

 

"Bones, I – I have something for you."

 

A small crease appears between her eyebrows. "What do you mean? It's still two weeks until Christmas…"

 

"No, nothing like that." Booth lets go of her and gets up, instantly missing the warmth of her touch. "I'll be right back, okay?"

 

He can feel her eyes following him when he disappears into his bedroom. His determination almost fails him there; he has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself before he can bring himself to open the nightstand drawer and take out his coma book.

 

He weighs the book in his hands, and for a moment, his mind fills with half-faded memories that still try to lure him back towards another life, towards that dream-like existence that he once shared with her. He can feel the pull, but the temptation to give in to it is almost entirely gone; his thoughts are focused on Bones who's waiting for him just outside this room, on the life that might await him if he can work up the courage to actually live it.

 

Her eyes go wide when he comes back with the book in his hand. She clearly recognizes it, but she doesn't move when Booth sits down next to her and holds the thick volume out towards her.

 

"Booth, what…"

 

"I want you to have this, Bones."

 

She stares at him, and then at the book, and then at him again; Booth returns her gaze as calmly as possible, and even though his heart is in his throat, he manages to hold the book steady until she finally, hesitatingly reaches out and takes it.

 

For a split second, Booth feels the pang of something that might be loss. His fingers unwittingly clench around the book, but then he looks at her, _really_ looks at her, and lets go.

 

Bones has gone pale; she's holding the book in both hands as if it were much heavier than it is, but she makes no move to open it. "What do you want me to do with this?"

 

"Whatever you want." Booth wonders if she can hear how much his voice is shaking, but he isn't going to chicken out now, no matter how nervous he is. "I'm giving it to you, so it's up to you to decide."

 

"But these are your memories." She sounds like she's choking on something. "Why are you giving them to me?"

 

"Because I don't need them any more." Booth desperately wants to touch her again, to bring back the connection they shared just a few moments ago, but he knows this isn't the time. "They were dreams, Bones, and some of them were very happy dreams, and… in my mind, they were always about you."

 

The last remains of color leave her face at his words, but Booth presses on because he _needs_ her to understand. "But you see, if they don't work for _both_ of us, then… then I don't want to keep dreaming them." The memory of his last talk with Gordon Gordon flashes through Booth's mind, and he fervently hopes that he's choosing the right words to get through to her. "Because _you_ matter to me, not the dreams I had about you."

 

Bones' mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Her eyes are filling with tears, and she doesn't seem aware that she's clutching the book as if it were a lifeline. Booth keeps silent and tries to ignore the hammering of his heartbeat in his ears; he has said his part, and now it's up to her what she chooses to do with it.

 

It feels like forever, but finally Bones' death grip on the book relaxes. Carefully, as if it might break any moment, she places it on the coffee table; when she turns back to him, her eyes are dry.

 

"Thank you."

 

He didn't know before that you could put so much feeling into two simple words. Relief, and hope, and maybe even a soft, quiet kind of joy – she isn't smiling, but the way she looks at him tells him she understands what he's been trying to say.

 

Booth just nods. There are no words to express what's going through his mind right now, and even if there were, he doesn't think his voice would obey him.

 

Bones gestures towards the book on the table, although she doesn't touch it again. "And you're sure that you're okay with me having it?"

 

"It's yours, Bones." He's glad of the chance to lighten the mood a little; now that the crucial moment is behind them, he can feel himself beginning to shake with suppressed nerves, and he figures they could both use a distraction. "You can do whatever you want with it – lock it away somewhere, burn it, throw it into the Reflecting Pool…"

 

Her head snaps up at this, and Booth realizes belatedly that the image which must have snuck up on him from the depths of his subconscious will be familiar to her. A cold spike of fear shoots through him, but it's gone just as quickly when she begins to smile.

 

He can't remember when he has last seen her smile at him like this – open and completely unguarded, her pale blue eyes shining with an expression that lights up her whole face and makes his heart clench with a mix of gratitude and desperate longing. Again, he aches to reach out and touch her, but he realizes that he can't stop halfway now if he really wants to put all his cards on the table.

 

Maybe easing into the topic with a joke isn't the best way to go about it, but everything else he can think of feels stilted and artificial, so Booth points at the book on the table and adds in the most casual tone he can muster, "I don't think you'll be able to turn _this_ one into a bestselling novel, though."

 

He instantly regrets his flippancy when Bones flinches as if she'd been struck. Her eyes go huge, every hint of her earlier smile gone, and her face turns ashen as she stares at him with an expression that's somewhere between shocked and terrified. Booth reacts without thinking; he has been reluctant to touch her before, but now the need to reassure her silences every other concern.

 

She doesn't pull away when he takes her hands in his, but they remain limp in his grasp. He hates seeing the panic in her eyes, hates knowing that he put it there because he couldn't recognize her gifts for what they were, because he was too caught up in his own issues to understand how much of herself she put into everything she did for him.

 

He recalls those last moments of her book, when Tony and Roxie assured each other that their ordeals were behind them, that they had a brighter future ahead of them and that they were going to spend every moment of it together – and he's reminded again that you sometimes get an answer from her without having to ask the question.

 

_You matter to her._

 

"Thank you, Bones."

 

He's about to say more, to explain that he gets it, that he understands the magnitude of what she has given him even though it took him a while – but then her fingers tighten around his, making the words die in his throat, and although her eyes are brimming with tears again, they're suddenly shining even more brightly than before. Booth lets himself fall into her gaze and feels both humbled and elated at the realization that she, too, understands what he's trying to tell her, that his thanks told her just as much as hers told him just a few minutes earlier.

 

"You're welcome." Her voice is trembling with barely suppressed emotion, and then she's in his arms again, and it no longer matters if it's her or him who's scared. They cling to each other until it becomes difficult to breathe, and Booth tries to stop thinking at all and to just hold on to the moment when things are finally, _finally_ falling into place.

 

_You and me, Bones – we're the center, and we'll hold._

 

"Stay with me." The words are out before he realizes what he's saying, and he feels her stiffen ever so slightly in his arms.

 

Booth pulls back a little and hastens to clarify. "I'm not talking about sex, Bones. Just – stay with me tonight?" It's almost midnight, and he can see that she's deathly tired, but now that he feels like they've finally bridged the chasm between the, the idea of letting her go seems unbearable.

 

She gives him another one of those calm, appraising looks, and Booth does his best to hold her gaze without flinching until at long last, her expression softens.

 

"Okay."

 

+++

 

Booth finds himself stuck in a strange battle between his rational mind and his gut feeling as they get ready for bed. Bones has disappeared into the bathroom with a pair of his sweatpants and one of his FBI t-shirts, and his brain insists that he should be experiencing some sense of déjà vu because he remembers writing about this exact same scenario in his coma journal. He doesn't _feel_ it, though – all of it seems new, and while he knows that the scene he described in the book was filled with grief and a sense of impending danger, what he feels now is a mix of nervousness, relief and more hope than he has felt in a very long time.

 

He washes up quickly once Bones is done; when he comes back into the bedroom, he finds her perched on the edge of the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

 

"You cold, Bones?"

 

She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine – I just wanted to wait for you because I wasn't sure which side of the bed you prefer."

 

Christ. They've been screwing each other's brains out for weeks, but she's right, they've never actually _slept_ in the same bed during all that time. Booth grits his teeth and promises her silently that this will be different; it's not that he isn't tempted, but there's no way he's going to try anything tonight, and from the look of it, neither is she.

 

"Take your pick, Bones, I don't really mind."

 

She crawls into bed and pull the covers up to her chin. Booth walks up to the window to close the blinds, but then he hesitates. There it is again, the reminder that this should feel familiar, that he wrote down the memory of closing the blinds because he was trying to keep her safe from some kind of danger lurking outside.

 

Squaring his shoulders, Booth steps away from the window. "Do you mind if I leave the blinds open? I don't usually…"

 

"It's fine," she interrupts before he can even finish the question. "I actually prefer sleeping in a room that isn't completely dark."

 

Booth finds himself wondering if this is a remnant of having been buried alive, but there's no way he's going to make her relive _that_ memory by asking nosy questions now. He gets into bed and switches off the bedside lamp; she's lying with her back to him, and he doesn't let himself feel disappointed even though a small part of him has been hoping that he would get to hold her in his arms tonight.

 

"Night, Bones."

 

"Good night, Booth."

 

He can't help remembering those nights they spent in the circus trailer together, when they were always extremely careful not to touch each other while they got into bed even though they would inevitably wake up huddled together the next morning. The only thing that matters right now is that she's here, and –

 

The mattress shifts a little when Bones scoots backwards, and before Booth fully realizes what she's doing, her back is spooned against his chest.

 

He has to swallow a few times to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. He isn't ever going to forget all those times she flinched away from his touch when they were in bed together, and he knows fully well what it means for Bones to let her guard down like that.

 

 _If you love someone, you open yourself up to suffering_.

 

He carefully wraps his arm around her waist and then tries to get comfortable without crowding her too much. Her hair is tickling his face, and she giggles a little at his yelp when she presses her cold feet against his calves. Booth experiences another unexpected flash of relief because none of it feels familiar – it's new and hopeful and _real_ , and he tries to focus on nothing but that feeling as he drifts off to sleep.

 

+++

 

_He watches her as she walks through the classroom like a queen presiding over her realm; he isn't really listening to what she's saying, but the sound of her voice has him mesmerized, just like the gentle swaying of her hips, the soft flow of auburn hair around her face. More than anything, though, it's the air of easy, self-assured grace that makes it impossible for him to tear his eyes away from her, and when she finally looks at him, he feels the spark of something he has no name for coming alive in his chest._

_Do you believe in fate?_

_He knows what her answer will be before he hears her say the words, but it doesn't matter because she's smiling at him as she speaks them, and the way she hold his gaze makes him wish he could just stand here losing himself in her eyes forever._

_She's still looking at him when they're standing outside the pool hall in the pouring rain. Her eyes are full of laughter now, challenging him, luring him towards her, and he's only too happy to give in to temptation. He feels the warmth of her skin so close to his, and his own eyes fall shut at the touch of her hand that runs through his hair in a soft, gentle caress –_

 

Booth struggles to hold on to his dream as he drifts towards wakefulness, his body warm and pleasantly heavy with sleep. He's in bed with somebody snuggled against him, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to recognize Bones' firm, slender body against his, her familiar scent that surrounds him with every breath he takes. He can still feel her hand in his hair, and he's slowly becoming aware of the soft curve of her breast against the side of his neck; he's lying with his head nestled against her shoulder while her hand is gently stroking his hair as if she were petting a cat.

 

The realization makes his muscles go taut with sudden alarm, and he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting against the increasing pull of reality. He knows what's happening – he has experienced it countless times before, has felt all happiness and contentment being brutally ripped away from him once the harsh light of day had snuffed out the last remnants of his dream. He knows it's not real, but he wants to hold on to the feeling of being in her arms for just another moment…

 

Bones freezes when she feels him tense against her. She snatches her hand away, and it seems to Booth that she's holding her breath. He finally forces himself to open his eyes; he's in his bed, his _own_ bed, and he sags with relief when the first thing he sees in the grey pre-dawn light is her face just a few inches away from his.

 

This is no fantasy, no dream that will disappear as soon as the sun comes up – she's here, warm and alive and _real_ , even though the look of apprehension on her face tells him that she thought he was still fast asleep when she was stroking his hair.

 

Booth closes his eyes again and lets his head fall back into the crook of her shoulder. "Don't stop."

 

His voice is hoarse and rough with sleep, and maybe he isn't fully awake yet after all because he isn't sure he would have had the nerve to say that if he were able to think clearly. Bones hesitates for a split second, but then her hand is back in his hair, and Booth relaxes and tries to focus on nothing but the soft, tender touch.

 

"It must have been a good dream." Her tone is soft too, but something in it still makes Booth raise his head to look at her.

 

"What do you mean?" He misses the gentle caress of her fingers in his hair, but it's obvious that there's more to her remark than she's letting on, and he won't let any kind of misunderstanding get between them again if he can help it.

 

Is he imagining things, or is she really blushing a little? "When I woke up, you were still asleep, and you were smiling. I assumed you were dreaming."

 

"Yeah, I was." He has to smile again when he remembers the dream – he's never going to forget that day at American University when Temperance Brennan walked into his life and made sure nothing would ever be the same again.

 

She settles back against the pillow, creating a small distance between them. "What did you dream about?"

 

Booth almost chuckles at the blunt question, but one look at her tells him it's no laughing matter for Bones. He can see the tension in the crease between her eyebrows, and it finally dawns on him what this might be about.

 

Careful not to crowd her too much, Booth reaches out and brushes a strand of sleep-tousled hair away from her face. "I was dreaming of you."

 

The way her expression shutters confirms his suspicions; he leaves his hand where it is, lying softly against the side of her face, and to his relief she leans into his touch just a little even though she sounds hesitant. "Booth…"

 

"No, Bones, I mean it. I was dreaming of _you_ – the day I first met you, when I walked into your classroom and asked you if you believed in fate." He holds her gaze as calmly as possible; this is important, and he needs her to believe that he's telling the truth. "I know who you are."

 

There's that look again, as if she were trying to read him like one of her skeletons, but at long last, she relaxes against him. "I'm glad."

 

She deliberates for a second, and then adds, "And I still don't."

 

"Yeah, I know." He lowers his hand to rest lightly on her shoulder; she doesn't turn into the half-embrace, but she doesn't move away either. Instead, she props her head up on her elbow and asks in a completely different, almost businesslike tone, "So what happens next?"

 

The question takes him by surprise. There it is again, the distant sensation of not-quite déjà vu, as if he had heard her ask the same question before even though nothing about their current situation feels familiar. "What do you mean?"

 

The way she weighs her words before she answers tells him how important this is to her. "I mean – what do you _want_ to happen now? Tomorrow, or next month, or… after that?"

 

Booth hesitates. There are so many things he wants, but he still isn't sure if she's really prepared to hear about some of them. His gut tells him to give her an honest answer, to finally stop dancing around the issue, but the voice at the back of his brain keeps reminding him what happens every time he asks for more than life is willing to grant him.

 

Bones seems content to give him time to gather his thoughts; her eyes never leave his, and her expression remains calm and composed even though her body is taut like a bowstring under his touch.

 

Booth takes a deep breath and decides to start with the topics that are safe. "I want my life back, Bones – my badge, my gun, my company car, and I want to catch bad guys with you and spend the evenings doing paperwork and eating Thai and not getting half of the squinty things you say. I want to have your back like you have mine, and… I want us to be the partners we were before all this, because I love being your partner, and I love working with you and arguing with you and celebrating the end of a case with you. I… I miss all that, Bones, I miss _us_ , and… and I want that back."

 

Is he imagining things, or is her tense posture easing just a little bit? "I want that too, Booth – all of it."

 

Booth swallows nervously. As glad as he is of the confirmation that she's willing to be his partner again, he isn't sure how to move on to the things that are foremost on his mind now. Everything he just said is true, but there's still so much more he wants them to be, and he still can't bring himself to trust his instincts that tell him it's safe to admit it.

 

When he doesn't answer right away, Bones adds in that matter-of-fact tone she's so good at, "I also want to keep having sex with you."

 

Booth stares at her, completely blindsided by the blunt statement. He never would have expected _her_ to address the elephant in the room, but the way she put it leaves him wondering what she really meant by it. She wants them to be… what? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? He can't help it that his body reacts to the idea; his mind is suddenly filled with images that make his pulse quicken and his blood rush south, and Booth struggles to get a grip on his traitorous libido before he does something stupid.

 

After everything they've been through, after all the stuff she wrote in her book – is it possible that the only thing she wants from him is the addition of sex to their partnership? Booth's heart sinks at the thought, but then he remembers how many things went wrong between them since he woke up because they made assumptions about each other.

 

"You'll get no argument from me there." Booth figures he'd better admit it right away before their physical proximity leaves her with another kind of confirmation. "But… Bones, you know it'll never be 'just sex' between us, right?"

 

She's quiet for a long time, and Booth's growing nervousness quickly snuffs out the brief spike of arousal. If she really just –

 

"I know."

 

The calm words seem to reverberate in the silence between them. Booth's mind feels strangely blank; for the second time this morning, she has managed to throw him completely. No reminder of those frantic, wordless nights, no lecture about 'biological urges' – never in a million years would he have expected such an admission from her, and for a second he has trouble believing that he heard her correctly. She _knows_?

 

Then a memory stirs at the back of his brain, and it isn't about a half-forgotten fantasy – it's Bones, her eyes filled with tears of hurt and anger, accusing him of only seeing the real her while they were in bed together.

 

 _She had almost lost you, she was convinced that she could never be more than a partner to you, so she went for the next best thing._ He knows that Gordon Gordon was talking about the baby issue, but Booth still feels like a blindfold has been removed from his eyes when the realization hits him that she might have been doing just that when she showed up in his room every night.

_Do you really think I'm that desperate for physical gratification that I keep coming back to your bed?_

The woman who wrote a love story about the two of them, who stayed by his side even though she was convinced he had replaced her with a fantasy in his mind – was she trying to hold on to the only thing she thought she could have of him?

 

 _Jesus Christ_. Booth feels like the breath has been knocked out of him when he begins to grasp the implications. She's right, she knows – and if he finally understands her correctly, she knew it long before he did.

 

But if that's true, what is she trying to tell him now?

 

He can't rely on half-veiled hints and assumptions any more. She's still looking at him with that calm, yet strangely vulnerable expression, and Booth's heart is suddenly in his throat, but he's done running.

 

"I love you, Bones." He does his best to hold her gaze as firmly as he can, and the nervous knot in his stomach loosens a little when she doesn't flinch at his words. "I'm not going to apologize for it."

 

His heart skips a beat when she looks away for a moment, but then those clear blue eyes meet his again, and her voice is soft when she answers. "I don't want you to."

 

He doesn't know what she means by that, and his bewilderment must show on his face because she reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder. "I mean… I don't want you to apologize."

 

_Do you love me?_

_Yeah. Do you want me to prove it to you?_

 

Booth's mind is a whirl of images and emotions, but there's one memory that stands out – the beginning of her book, with Roxie's question and Tony's answer, and maybe… it's almost too much to believe, and the heady mix of relief and sudden, overwhelming joy makes him feel a little dizzy, but maybe she'll really let him prove it to her.

 

Her eyes are shining with tears, and from the way the contours of her face are blurring, Booth figures his are too. He doesn't know who leans in first, but he can feel the warmth of her breath on his face, her heartbeat against his chest, and then her mouth is on his.

 

It's nothing like that eager, breathtaking kiss in the rain all those years ago – this kiss is slow and soft, a tender, unhurried dance of lips and tongues, and Booth marvels at the realization that after all the times he held her in his arms before, after all those frenzied nights they spent together, this feels like the most intimate moment they have ever shared.

 

She smiles when they finally break apart, but she doesn't pull away, and his thoughts wander back to that night at the pool hall and make him wonder what it is about them and second chances, because those always seem to work better for them.

 

_I love you._

 

Booth traces the gentle curve of her lips with his finger and feels like he can see the future expand all the way to a horizon that beckons them with endless possibilities. Maybe she'll say those three words back at some point; maybe they'll eventually be able to share a home without killing each other, and who knows, maybe she might even rediscover the idea of having children one day. None of it matters right now, though – he isn't chasing a dream any more, he's setting out on a journey with her, and he's content to see where the road takes them as long as they are together every step of the way.

 

Bones is still smiling at him, and her voice is thick with emotion when she asks, "What are you thinking about?"

 

"I think…" Booth hesitates briefly as his mind flits back to that kiss in the rain, to second chances and to the road ahead of them. "I think this might be going somewhere."

 

She rests her forehead against his, and he hears something bubbling in her voice that could be tears, or laughter, or maybe a little bit of both. "I think I would like that."

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIN

 


End file.
